Remember Me
by Fireflyleo
Summary: "This isn't some cold, dead body he's holding in his arms... Her soul, her Grigory soul, though it sleeps, is calling for him." SoulxMaka. A story about reclaiming love even when it's been lost in the worse possible way.
1. Lost Angels

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, and I never will. Nor do I own Gackt or his music.

Enjoy.

Remember Me

Lost Angels

"Hey, sis, Soul's supposed to get back today!"

"That's right. I'd forgotten."

Liz and Patti were currently lounging on one of Shibusen's many balconies. The sisters sat in a thoughtful silence each one focusing all of their attention to their self-assigned tasks: twenty-one year old Liz was flipping through a fashion magazine and Patti, now eighteen, was going through some of the old photos they'd taken over the years but never gotten around to giving out. Her hand paused on a picture taken a little more than two years ago.

It was a photo of the seven of them all together on an assignment to a tropical island off the coast of Mexico. They had taken the first day to investigate the area and find any leads as to the whereabouts of the kishin. Then, someone dropped the suggestion of some "party time." Even though Maka had been against it initially, they had decided to relax a bit by the seaside before sundown. Everyone was dressed in their vacation attire, Black Star and Soul both wearing brightly colored swim trunks while Kidd kept to a nice and respectable white pair of shorts and grey wife-beater. The girls were also dressed in beachwear. The twin pistols wore string bikinis that would complement the other's at Kidd's insistence. Tsubaki had chosen a tasteful but flattering blue one-piece for the day, and Maka was wearing a sportier bikini underneath her very see-through, mesh cover-up.

An air of friendly camaraderie graced the image with maybe a hint of something more... hmm, intimate close by depending on where you're eye strayed. Like the way Black Star's hand was pressed over Tsubaki's as they sat in the sand at the forefront of the picture while his other hand gave a thumbs up. Or it could hide in the way Liz and Patti had pressed themselves just a tad too close to Kidd as he sat in a beach chair for their pose – Patti sitting beside Black Star in the Sand but leaning back into Kidd's legs, one arm wrapped around his calf, while Liz draped herself over his shoulders having run over after setting up the camera.

Your heart might flutter or lips might sigh if your eyes strayed further to where Soul and Maka stood behind Tsubaki and Black Star. Soul's right arm was slung over Maka's shoulders to catch her right hand in his while she intertwined the fingers on both of their left hands. His head pressed against her's in a gentle nudge.

Patti sighed.

It was a beautiful scene, and the last picture the seven teenagers would take all together. If not for a series of unfortunate events, they could have stayed as they were. A close-knit group bound by friendship and love. Patti started ever so slightly when she heard her sister sigh from directly over her shoulder as Liz looked down at the picture in Patti's hands. A manicured hand reaches out to take the small photo from her sister's smaller hand.

Patti breathes deep as she leans her head against the elder Thompson's stomach. Liz's hand finds a resting place atop the younger girl's head.

"I know, Patti. I miss her, too."

They sat in silence for several moments before the younger stood up.

"Come on, sis. Let's go find Kidd."

* * *

><p>Twenty year old, Soul Eater Evans revved the bike's engine once more as he pulled up to Shibusen.<p>

"Back in Death City…" he drawled out as he removed his helmet giving a lazy look to his surroundings. It seemed nothing had changed during his four month long assignment away from Death City. The death scythe took a deep breath of the warm spring air thankful to be back from his position in Russia over the winter months.

Fixing his grey leather jacket, he dismounted the bike to start up the familiar steps and make his way to the Death Room where Shinigami-sama and Death the Kidd would be waiting for his report.

It always bothered him the first time nostalgia hit after returning from a long mission. Walking through the academy's halls, the shadows of the past whispered and brushed against him. He learned the first time it happened that it was best to just grit his teeth and ignore the wave of emotions that tended to splash all over him. It was all he could do to keep his sanity until he made it to Lord Death's chambers.

"Ah, Soul-kun, welcome back!"

Walking beneath the row of guillotines, Soul could see Shinigami-sama waving at him from his usual place standing before his mirror. Kidd stood just a little off to the side and looked happy to see him. To Kidd, Soul looked the same as ever wearing a grey leather jacket, blue jeans, and a red shirt. His hair was a little mused, probably from the drive home, but the white headband was working to keep it from going completely haywire.

"So, how was the mission?"

Shinigami-sama again.

"Six kishin eggs recovered and the witch who had been facilitating their creation has been eliminated."

"Excellent, and how is Tsar doing?"

"Death Scythe Tsar Pushka and his meister Feodor are doing well (1). They send their regards."

"Very good! Glad to hear it."

"Well, Soul," Kidd finally spoke up. "You've more than earned yourself a break, why don't you take a week or so to relax?"

"Hn, thanks, Kidd. I'll see about it."

"Alright, Soul. You're dismissed. Take care of yourself and do come visit."

"Of course, Shinigami-sama."

With that Soul turned around and left the Death Room leaving Kidd alone with his father. Lord Death actually sighed once the death scythe was out of the room.

"It's been two years and still he refuses to move on."

"He blames himself." Kidd sighed. "What happened was an accident – a horrible accident. He needs to accept that and move forward with his life. Stop blaming himself for a crime he didn't commit. She wouldn't want him to keep doing this to himself."

"I believe you're right, Kidd. Someone needs to snap him out of this."

"The question is how. She was more than just his meister."

"That I don't know."

"It's a sad truth but meisters die every day." A new voice joined the conversation from behind the mirror. "It's a hazard of the occupation. Hell more than half of us death scythes have lost our original meisters to death."

"Ah, Spirit, good to see you. How's it going?"

"Doing alright, Lord Death. And yourself?"

"Good as always."

Kidd observed the older man.

In the last two years, Spirit had cleaned up his act considerably. He swore off alcohol, avoided the gentlemen's clubs like the plague, and became a true role model for the DWMA's students. It looked like Spirit Albarn, Death City's number one playboy, had finally grown up. And then the unbelievable happened. He went away on a mission one month by himself, no Stein or any other scythe meister to accompany him, or so it appeared; no one could understand it. Spirit could hold his own in a fight, they all knew that, but he wasn't autonomous by any means.

But he went off on another then another and then another, and as the months passed, rumors began to spread that he was working with his ex-wife. No one believed it. Anyone who knew of that pair's grievances against each other knew that throwing those two back together was more dangerous than introducing fire to an H-bomb. But then, Kami showed up in Death City for the first time since her daughter's death. It was like bearing witness to an eclipse watching the way she spoke and interacted with Spirit. A true miracle, as Marie described it. Her green eyes had sparkled with pride at the change in her ex-husband, willing to overlook the heart-wrenching reason for the change.

They weren't officially back together by any means, that much was obvious. Especially in the way Kami still refused to change her mailing address back to the Death City Post Office and was more comfortable outside the city walls than in. But there was something in the way the carried themselves whenever she so happened to be visiting… They'd found comfort in each other. Was it the start of a reconciliation? Maybe. Bottom line was they were both alright. They'd lived through the worse nightmare a parent could suffer and found a way to survive. Somehow, both had managed to move on with their lives.

That's when Kidd had an idea.

"Death Scythe?"

"What's up, Kidd?"

"Do you think you could talk to Soul?"

The weapon's blue eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly at the request.

"I know that the two of you have never been on speaking terms, but a few words from you might be just what he needs to hear."

"I highly doubt there's anything I could say that that little punk would listen to…" he growled under his breath. Spirit continued to study the grown Shinigami junior out of the corner of his eye for several seconds before papa Death decided to chime in.

"I think that's a great idea, Kidd. Why don't you give it a try, Spirit?"

Feeling more than a little double teamed on this issue, the weapon shifted his gaze icily between the two gods of death, his lips pursed together in his usual expression of distaste or discomfort. Finally, he let out a long sigh as though surrendering.

"Fine, I'll do it, but I'm not making any promises."

* * *

><p>(Meanwhile)<p>

"Oi, Soul!"

Said weapon froze in his tracks, dread flooding through the basin of his gut. He had almost made it back to his bike without interference. Go figure that a certain loud-mouthed assassin would be the one to cut him off just as he set foot in the courtyard at the front of the academy.

He turned around slowly (wouldn't want to provoke a wild animal by moving too quickly).

"Hey, Black Star, Tsubaki."

The ever faithful chain scythe stood just a few feet behind her meister, an apologetic smile on her face, while Black Star slung an arm around his best friend's shoulders and pulled the tired death scythe into a rough, boyish half-embrace.

"Glad to see you're back, man. You were gone, what, four months?"

"Yeah, just got back."

"Dang, no wonder you look so out of it. You death scythes got it rough."

Soul cracked a half smile at that.

"No kidding… It's not all that bad."

Tsubaki stepped forward as Black Star released Soul.

"How long will you be in town for, Soul-kun?"

"A few days at least."

"Oh… Well in that case we need to celebrate while you're here. How bout we throw a party at our place, Black Star?"

Soul's eyes widened.

"Uh, no! Tsubaki, you don't need to do that!" he shouted, flailing his arms around.

Black Star slapped him on the back. Damn, that kid needed to realize his own strength sometimes...

"Dumbass, it's my duty as a god. None of us have seen or heard from you in months. You're always off on missions, and when you are here, you're never actually with us, you're always training."

Soul narrowed blood red eyes at his blue haired friend for the last comment.

"As if you don't disappear to train by yourself every other day," he snapped back. Black Star just laughed with his hands on his hips before jumping over and pulling Soul into a head lock. "Oof, get off, you punk."

"Nah, just once a day for a few hours," he half yelled, half growled to answer Soul's statement. "Shows how long you've been away… Besides, you need to relax, man. Let yourself go a little. Right, Tsubaki?"

"Yeah, you've been gone so long, you deserve a break."

Managing to somehow push Black Star off of him, Soul opened his mouth to argue again.

"That's besides the-"

"You know their right, Soul," interrupted the approaching Death the Kidd.

"Yeah, you're acting like you have a stick up your butt, and only Kidd's allowed to act like that," laughed the younger pistol as the Thompson sisters walked up following behind Kidd. The trio stopped nearby, Liz and Kidd staring expectantly at Soul.

"Yeah," added Liz. "People will forget how 'cool' you are if they never get to see you."

He huffed at her.

"Like I care what 'people' think, anyway…" he grumbled shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Awww, look! He's pouting now!"

Patti's playful laughter along with the various snickers and giggles of everyone else was able to make the stubborn scythe cave. He slouched over himself and hung his head in defeat for a split second. A hand brushed through his hair sheepishly and he looked down away from everyone around.

"I guess it has been a long time. Just give me a while alright. I need to unpack."

Tsubaki nodded giving a gentle smile

"Of course. Take a few hours. Get settled and relax for a bit. Come over around eight o'clock."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you then," muttered Soul and he walked away down the stairs of Shibusen and to his bike.

"Bye, Soul! We're glad you're back!" yelled Patti waving at Soul's retreating back.

"Later," he called as he threw a wave over his shoulder ignoring their stares and continued conversation. Revving the engine and kicking up the kickstand, Soul took off to take refuge in the safety of his apartment.

* * *

><p><em>She'd never felt anything more perfect in her life. His lips on her skin, his hands on her hips, his body moving in and around her, it was all so perfect. Her fingertips dug into his back on a particularly hard thrust, one hand snaking its way into his frost colored hair. She pulled him up for a heated kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist.<em>

_She was calling out a name, but for some reason she couldn't hear herself._

_Suddenly his mouth was on her neck sucking and nipping with those sharp teeth. She arches into him pulling him deeper into her body. Then his lips are at her ear, murmuring and whispering to her, but still she cannot hear his voice._

_She pushes at his chest, flipping them over. Her lips meet his again in a soul searing kiss. As she pulls back to continue moving over this amazing stranger, her eyes meet the darkest of crimson. And they move just like that until she screams her pleasure to the smirking moon._

Thousands of miles away from Death City, Nevada, Maristela Velasquez wakes from her slumber with a gasp.

"Oh my God," she murmurs. Her hand reaches up to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her skin is hot to the touch, and her heart is racing at what must be a thousand miles per hour. He body is hot and achy, her muscles tense as though they just finished pushing her to the finish line of a long marathon, and her breathing is erratic, completely uneven. She looks up at the bleeding moon as a heavy sigh passes her lips.

She closes her eyes again trying to catch her breath.

The vision of the man from her dream is burned into her retina. She can still feel his hands on her as though they are imprinted on the surface of her skin. She aches for him, yearns for this stranger who she doesn't remember ever meeting. Yet she thinks she knows this man far better than she thinks. This midnight visitor that's haunted her dreams and fantasies. A phantom from an unknown past trying to wiggle its way into her bed at night, invading her dreams and turning her into a pile of want and lust.

She shakes her head harshly as though warding off anymore demons.

"It's just a dream," she whispers to herself. "Just a dream, Mari."

She lies back down, snuggling deep under the covers. The effects of the dream have worn off, and she feels considerably better, but one thought hovers on the border of her consciousness.

"Just a dream… but why did it feel so real?"

TBC

Please let me know what you think.

(1.) Manga Spoiler


	2. Bittersweet Symphony

Author's Note - I made a few changes to this chapter. One is a pretty big change.

Remember Me

Bittersweet Symphony

_"Hey Soul…"_

_"Yeah, Maka?"_

_They were lying on the couch watching TV together. She was laying between his legs, her head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around her torso. She was idly twiddling with his fingers. He didn't mind. He was actually basking in the affection while watching the game._

"_Will you remember me tomorrow?"_

_He raised an eyebrow at her._

"_What are you talking about? Of course I will."_

"_Will you remember me next week?"_

"_Maka-"_

"_Just answer," she giggled._

"_Okay… Yes."_

"_Will you remember me in a month?"_

"_Yeah…" What is she up to?._

"_Will you remember me in a year?"_

"_Maka, you know I couldn't forget you even if I tried."_

_She smiled at him._

"_Knock, knock."_

"_Who's there?"_

_She gave him a pouty face._

"_Awww, you forgot me already."_

_He couldn't stop the laugh from rising up and out of his throat. How'd he fall for such a lame-ass joke? He pulled her closer to him and planted a kiss on her lips. He growled in her ear in that sexy voice he sometimes uses._

"_I'll show you how well I remember you."_

_And he dove in for another kiss._

_She dodged it, jumping up and out of his arms._

"_You'll have to come catch me first."_

"_Oh no, you don't."_

_And he ran after her straight into their now shared bedroom. He tackled her to the mattress. They play wrestle on the bed for several minutes until he finally "forces" her down. Though he's pretty sure she lets him win these little games. Powerful weapon though he was, she was the meister who'd made him. They kiss and touch and just make out for what seems like hours just enjoying each other. He was about to push for more intimacy but Maka stopped him. She held his face between her palms and stared him straight in the eyes, a sad smile on her face._

"_I'm so close, Soul."_

"_Maka…"_

"_You just have to come and get me."_

"_But Maka…"_

"_Please, Soul, bring me home."_

_And she kissed him…_

"Hey, Soul, wake up! You're gonna be late for the party!"

He shot straight up in bed. Disorientation lay like a fog blanketed over his mind.

"Where… Oh my God. I must have fallen asleep."

He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out the white locks. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; he'd just been meandering about tossing the dusty sheets and clothing in the wash and unpacking what he'd had with him. He'd only lain down for a second.

Guess he didn't realize how tired he'd been.

"That dream…"

His voice shook ever so slightly. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his eyes as though trying to rid himself of the images. He'd lost count of how many dreams like that he'd had in the last two years. He couldn't understand the phenomenon. They would start out as memories, so vivid you'd think he'd been vapped back to that time and place. When he thought on it in waking, he could remember each and every single one, every single detail, like it had happened just yesterday.

But then, something would shift and suddenly the memory didn't line up anymore. God, the things she would say…

"Soul! Come on. You're gonna be late."

"Blair?" he questioned.

"Of course, silly. Nyan…"

The magical cat pushed her way through the cracked bedroom door, and scampered across the floor to jump straight into the startled weapon's lap right on top of a very sensitive area.

"Ah! Blair!"

"Mrawr!"

He jumped out of bed sending the small feline flying through the air to land at the foot of the bed. Keeping the sheet tight around his waist, Soul shook himself of the pain. Here he was, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a sheet, chest heaving at the outrageous wake up call.

Remind him again why he kept that damn cat around.

"Damn it, Blair."

She just laughed at him.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Soul. Did Soul-kun have a naughty dream?"

He turned bright red in embarrassment - an emotion that would be quickly followed by anger.

"That's none of your business!" he shouted. "Now will you get out of my room!"

"Awwww, but Soul, I haven't seen you in four months. Blair missed Soul. It gets so lonely around here without him."

Soul sighed, walking over and laying a hand on her head and scratching behind her ear.

"You're pouting, ya know."

She started purring.

"I didn't expect you to be here."

"I don't work today." She shook off his hand and jumped onto his shoulder, crawling from one side to the other tail flicking with curiousity. "So about this dream of yours. It sounded like you were having quite a bit of fun."

Soul shook his head walking out of the room and into the apartment.

"You know they say curiosity killed the cat."

"Aw, come on. Soul can tell Bu-tan. She won't laugh."

She jumped onto the counter and curled in on herself.

"No, I don't think so," he said pulling a water bottle out of the fridge and taking a long drink. One good thing about keeping the cat around as a roommate/pet was she took care of the apartment while he was gone on missions.

Blair was quiet for several moments, quiet contemplation shining in her eyes (never a good thing when dealing with cats) before she spoke. Her words sounded a little tentative.

"Was _she_ in it?"

The male visibly tensed in response. He should've seen that coming. He closed his eyes and lowered the water bottle, letting out a huge sigh. She couldn't see his face when she had asked as he was facing away from her, but he knew that she could sense his frown. It happened every time _she_ came up in conversation. Soul would freeze and shut himself off from anyone and everyone around him.

It wasn't because he didn't want to talk about her. It was more because the sinking sensation that settled in his stomach kept him for speaking. It was because his brain would go haywire and nearly short circuit with thoughts of her.

When he didn't respond after several moments, the feline drew the conclusion that he wasn't going to answer her at all.

"Yeah…"

"A memory?"

"Kind of… At first it was, but then she's started saying things that I know she's never said. Weird stuff like how I need to find her or go and get her. Stuff that doesn't make any sense."

"Oh. Do you think it might mean something?"

"It's just a dream, Blair. No hidden meanings behind that."

The cat looked sad, but he ignored her as he set the water bottle down on the counter and began heading toward the bathroom for a shower.

"Soul-kun doesn't really believe that does he."

It wasn't a question, more an observation.

He halted at the bathroom door. The twenty-year-old's hand clenched the doorframe in a vice grip. His knuckles turned white, and he could almost imagine hearing the wood splinter under his fingers.

Blair's eyes burn into his back.

"I know it's stupid of me," he bit out finally. "But when I wake up from those dreams, it doesn't feel like she's gone."

Having said that, he moved forward into the bathroom and closed the door. Ridding himself of his boxers, he stepped into the shower. The water ran over his body loosening the knots in his muscles and releasing the tension that had built up over the last couple steam cleared away any remaining effects of the Russian frost from his lungs and sinuses. Soap suds mixed with water gliding over corded muscle, and Soul allowed himself to let go for just a few minutes in the privacy of his bathroom.

The hot liquid cascaded over him, and he wanted to imagine it washing away the thoughts and feelings. He wished it could wash away the pain.

* * *

><p>"Black Star! Did you fix up the living room?" chimed Tsubaki as she puttered around in the kitchen making all of the final touch ups to their dinner.<p>

"I got it, Tsubaki!"

"Liz, Patti! Did you two remember to wrap the gift we got for Soul?"

"Yeah, Kidd," called Liz from Tsubaki and Black Star's room.

"Is it neatly done?"

"Gee, I don't know… Why don't you tell me? You're the one who's OCD!"

Kidd was already walking in to pass judgment on the sisters' handiwork from the patio where he'd been setting up some decorations. Patti held in her hands a garment gift box that had been neatly wrapped in light blue paper and tied with a darker blue ribbon.

"What do you think, Kidd?" the young weapon asked holding up the parcel.

"Hmm…"

The ribbon looked a bit off.

Without causing a commotion, the young reaper silently undid and retied the offending article and stepped back to admire the perfection.

"Perfect."

"Great, now can we eat?" sighed Liz as she set down their gift beside the smaller neatly wrapped box already on the bed from Black Star and Tsubaki.

"In a few more minutes, Liz-chan. Besides we have to wait for Soul-kun."

It was 7:55, and the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," called Patti as she bounced over to the door.

Throwing the door open revealed Ox, Kim, and Kilik with their weapons by their sides. Tsubaki, having just removed her apron, scurried over telling them all to come on into the living room. Greetings were exchanged as the six settled themselves around the designated room where Black Star was already lounging on the sofa. He got up to share a fist punch with Kilik while the twins looked on from their meister's shoulders. Though they had grown in the last few years, Kilik was still more than big enough to hold them one in each arm in their human forms.

"Black Star, my man. How's it hanging, pal?"

"Not too bad at all, Kil, and yourself?"

"I'm good. We're all good," he laughed gesturing to his whole team. "Now, where is the man of the hour, himself? I haven't seen Soul since God knows when."

"He's not here yet," Tsubaki answered as she walked into the living room, a tray full of ice filled glasses and a pitcher of lemonade in her hands. "But it's barely eight. He might be a little late."

Black Star snorted.

"Well he's got about ten minutes before I head out, track him down, and drag him back here myself."

"Glad to inform you that won't be necessary."

Everyone turned at the lazy drawled coming from the door, and there stood Soul dressed simply in a purple button-down shirt and black slacks with a black tie and belt finishing the ensemble. His beaten up jacket hung over his shoulder.

"Soul, you bastard! You're late," yelled Black Star getting up and heading over the other male.

"Whatever, Black Star," he smirked as they traded a high five at the threshold.

"Soul!"

"What's up!"

"How've ya been, man?"

"How long's it be?"

"Where were you off to this time?"

Pats on the back, hugs, a few air kisses from the girls… It was an amazing welcome home. Soul couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Kilik, Ox, and the rest of them all together. It was bittersweet.

That's when Patti bounded into the room from the kitchen.

"Yay, Soul's here. Let's eat!"

And they did. Tsubaki outdid herself on this one. The food had been delicious, and the conversation never broke as the young adults sat around the living room. Catching up on what had been happening with each other and reminiscing on old times. Someone brought up Tsubaki's tardiness in being released from the Book of Eibon's Lust chapteri, inspiring a good laugh at the chief's expense, but she took it all in stride. Kim and Ox announced their engagement, much to everyone's delight, and Kim assured everyone that they would all be receiving their invitations to the wedding that was only two months away in due time.

It was a great festive environment. After the girls and a reluctant Black Star had cleared away the plates, Liz pulled out a deck of cards and the poker games started. Someone had suggested strip poker (ehem, Black Star) but the idea was quickly squashed by everyone else. The game got loud real quick.

"Hahaha. You're meek hand doesn't stand a chance against my godliness."

"A Full House! That's most unsymmetrical thing I've ever seen."

"Ahaha. I win, I win." "Patricia, sit down. You're giving a show." "Weenie!"

"Thunder, Fire!" whined Kilik at one point. "Are you two cheating?"

"Read 'em and weep." "Not cool, Soul."

And so the time passed until Harvar finally looked at the clock noticing it was already 11.

"Hey, we've got to go, guys. We leave for a mission early tomorrow morning."

"That's right, we have to catch a 6 am flight to Austrailia," exclaimed Ox getting up to follow the visor wearing demon spear. Kilik reaches over and taps Soul across the chest in a friendly manner getting up with Fire and Thunder before standing and following his teammates to the door.

"It's been great."

"Thanks for coming you guys. Are you sure you don't want to take any dessert for the road?"

"Aw thanks, Tsubaki but we're good. Dinner was fantastic," said Kim giving the weapon a hug.

"We should do this more often," said Jackie. "It's been so long since all of Spartoi got together like this."

Tsubaki smiled politely as she closed the door behind the brunette.

Jackie couldn't be blamed. She had meant well. It wasn't her fault at all. She didn't even realize the tension that built up in Soul's muscles at her statement. They could all feel it. That deep melancholy… That bitter sensation that would flood the death scythe's aura whenever something reminded him of her… The evening had felt like they were all back together again. And Jackie had been right to a degree. The first generation of Spartoi had been together again for the first time in ages. All save one.

The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Dessert?"

Thank God for Patti and her innate ability to lighten the mood. She jumped out of her seat and practically dove into the kitchen.

Black Star slapped a hand on Soul shoulder but called over to Kidd.

"Hey, Kidd, why don't we show Soul what we got for him before dessert?"

"Excellent idea! Liz, come with me."

Crimson eyes widened at the blue-haired meister.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, it was nothing much, buddy. Consider them late birthday presents."

"Black Star," he growled.

"Oh, come off it, Soul," scolded Liz. "We've barely seen you three times in the last year."

And she threw the wrapped packages onto Soul's lap just as Tsubaki and Patti reentered the room with coffee and dessert in hand. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He just kind of stared at the simply wrapped parcels in his lap.

"Go on, Soul. Open them," said Tsubaki.

"You guys really shouldn't have."

"We wanted to," explained Kidd.

"Come on, man! Hurry up and open them so we can have dessert."

Soul shot the other male a look before conceding to the wishes of his friends and opening the first package. It was from Black Star and Tsubaki. Ripping apart the paper revealed a small stack of 5 records. Soul glanced quickly between the pair before investigating the pile. The first was a contemporary piano record that featured various well known artists. The other two were punk records by more recent groups. The last two of the albums were vintage jazz records.

It was these albums that had Soul speechless.

"How did you find these?"

Tsubaki just smiled at the look of wonderment on Soul's face.

"Tsubaki and I were in New York a couple months back. Found an old music store that was closing down. We went in to poke around a bit and ended up talking to the owner. Nice old guy. We told him we had a friend who liked listening to jazz and he pulled these out from his backroom. Said we should give them to you."

"These are almost impossible to find."

"Please! Nothing is impossible for this guy."

"Thank you both," he finally said giving Tsubaki a hug and Black Star a pat on the back.

"Okay, Soul! Now ours!" yelled Patti.

He took the other present. Careful, not to make a mess (he was keeping an eye on Kidd), he opened the box to reveal a brand new black leather jacket. Soul's jaw dropped open. It was one he'd been looking into buying not too long ago when his old black one got destroyed beyond repair. Not wanting to spend the money, he'd settled on the dark grey one he'd worn on the way over here.

"I remember you mentioned that your old jacket got a little battered on one of your missions the last time you were here," inserted Kidd. "We thought you might need a new one"

"Very cool. Thanks man. Liz, Patti."

"Oh, don't thank me. The girls picked it out."

"What can we say? We got a good eye."

"I thought we had four good eyes, nee-chan?"

"It's a figure of speech Patti…" Liz rolled her eyes at her sister before turning back to Soul. "Well, what are you waiting for? Try it on. Let's see if it fits."

Soul stood and did as requested. His face lit up with a sharp smile. It fit perfectly, not too tight and not too loose.

"You guys are great," he said pulling Patti into a hug.

"It looks good on you," said Liz as she too accepted a hug.

Soul and Kidd shared a nod. Then Soul spoke up.

"So, who's cutting the cake?"

* * *

><p>Death City always seemed more peaceful in the nighttime. The air was crisp against his skin, and the wind shifted lazily through his tousled hair.<p>

"So how goes missions?"

Kidd had pulled him out on to the patio while the others staying inside making idle chatter. Soul immediately took his place leaning against one of the support beams that held up the outside roof while Kidd took a position opposite him with his back against the column. Soul was looking out into the night. Kidd was looking at Soul.

"Eh, can't really complain."

"And Blair, how's she doing? Have you seen her yet?"

"Yeah, I've seen her. She's doing as good as usual."

"Have you gotten yourself settled?"

"Yeah, look, Kidd cut the small talk, will you? What did you want to talk to me about?"

It was almost midnight, and Soul was quite ready to be heading home for the night. He just needed Kidd to get on with it, so he could politely – or not so politely – brush off the concern and move on with his life.

"You know we worry about you, Soul."

He sighed. He knew this would be coming.

"None of you need to be worrying about me."

"Well, we do. You're taking on too many missions, dangerous ones. What if something happens to you?"

"That's my job as a Death Scythe, Kidd. You know that better than anyone."

"That may be true, but you're doing too much. If you don't cut this out, you're going to end up dead or worse."

"I think you're overreacting a bit on this, Kidd."

"I am not. We've all been thinking the same thing for the last two years."

"Well all of you need to just chill, alright. It's not that big of a deal."

Death the Kidd shoved his hands in his pocket taking a deep breath before continuing. Soul wasn't on edge yet. In fact, he was playing it as cool as he usually did, but this conversation could turn ugly really quickly if Soul had any idea where Kidd was going with this. If didn't keep his carefully constructed cool, the god knew very well what might happen.

"Soul, we don't want to end up burying another friend."

There it was. He knew it was coming. Tension flooded Soul's muscles, an indicative sign of the weapon's internal agony. He didn't speak though, he couldn't, his jaw was locked, so Kidd continued.

"You aren't the only one who lost her."

Soul's teeth were clenching.

"We've all suffered. We all miss her. We were all angry. We found the kishin egg soul resting harmless on a ledge, yet we couldn't even find her body. Couldn't even find her soul… All we found was her torn up cloak."

Yes, he knew all of that already. He remembered. He remembered the anger, the pain, the denial. The Black Blood had hissed below the surface of his skin, and it took everything he'd had to keep from slaughtering Black Star at the time. He'd only been trying to help, trying to break the news easy. Trying to tell him softly that his whole life may as well have been over from that day forward.

"You're still torturing yourself over her death. You need to stop this. It's been two years, Soul. You have your whole life ahead of you. You need to move on."

His hand curled into a fist.

"Start living your life again. It's what _she_ would have wanted you to do. It's what Maka would want."

Soul moved. Kidd didn't flinch when the death scythe's fist made contact with the pillar right next to his head, a last minute show of restraint on Soul's part. Kidd had been fully prepared to be punched. He'd even grit his teeth. One simply did not use Maka's name in conversation. Especially around Soul.

"Shut up," he growled. "You don't understand anything!"

After taking a deep, calming breath, Soul took several steps back. She always did tell him to count to ten before blowing up at anything.

"Soul," called Kidd.

"Look, I know you mean well, but you can never understand. What if it had been Liz or Patti? How would you feel?"

"I would probably feel a lot like you do now."

Crimson burned into amber.

"But I wouldn't let it destroy me. You can't let Maka's death rule your life."

Red eyes widened before looked off to the side.

"Move forward, Soul. And for Death's sake live. Maka wouldn't want to see you alone. She wouldn't want to see you suffer like this, and I can promise you that wherever she is, she doesn't blame you. She never would."

"You don't know that."

"But I do. Because I knew Maka. Just like I know you." He ran a hand through his hair before continuing. "Take a break. Go on a date. Remember what if feels like to live. Maybe one day you'll find a new meister. A new partner to help you and stand by you. That's what you need."

Soul shook his head and walked toward the patio doors to reenter the living room. One hand on the doorknob, the other shoved deep into a pocket, Soul looked back at Kidd.

"Listen, because I'm only going to say this once."

It was Kidd's turned to widen his eyes in shock.

"I loved Maka. I loved her more than life itself, and I can never forget her. There will never be another person for me like her. And I can promise you that aside from you or your father, I will never accept another meister."

Kidd's eyes softened.

"Stop worrying about me. I'm alive, and I intend to stay that way for her. I won't give up on her."

There must have been something in what Soul said that didn't sit well with Kidd. Maybe he'd said too much. Perhaps he should have counted to twenty instead for a little more thinking time. Amber eyes widened with realization as to what his friend had been holding onto for the last two years.

"You aren't honestly telling me you think she's still alive."

"Just stay out of it Kidd."

The shinigami was starting to panic now.

"No one could have survived that fall! It's impossible."

"Look, does it really matter what I think?"

"But Soul, you can't keep holding onto false-"

"Shut up, Kidd. Just shut up because you have no idea what it feels like to lose the one thing that matters most to you. Just leave it alone," he finished. He's mildly surprised he hasn't left an indentation of his hand on the door knob for the pressure he was putting on the metal. His jaw set and his shoulders held in a confidant stance, he spoke, "It was nice talking to you, Kidd, but I best be heading home. It's late."

And with that he walked into the living room, bid goodbye to everyone, gathered his belongings, and left the party, no doubt heading for home. And just as Soul Eater Evans walked out the front door, Kidd entered the living room.

"How'd it go?" inquired an anxious Patti.

Kidd sighed.

"I don't know… At least he didn't punch me."

Black Star gave an accepting snort.

"Probably just because you're technically his boss."

Kidd face faulted.

* * *

><p><em>(Two Years Ago)<em>

_They had found the kishin's nest without any problems. This killer had made a habit of kidnapping his victims and keeping them alive for several days before killing them. Releasing the three children had been top priority. Thankfully they had found the kids without much effort and gotten them safely out of the building and into the protective custody of the local police. It wasn't until the accursed demon had shown up that they ran into trouble. Big trouble._

_The thing ran. Naturally they pursued._

_They followed it all the way to edge of the rainforest his hideout had been located in. The clearing of the trees reveals a cliff's edge and a never ending view of the crystal clear blue ocean often associated with the warm tropical waters of Central America. It truly would be a beautiful day, were it not for the disgusting asymmetrical animal gnashing its teeth at them from across the expanse of the clearing. The offending creature obviously needed to be removed immediately._

_At least that's the way Kidd had phrased it._

_So they had to take care of the problem. Black Star rushed the creature in enchanted sword mode attempting to draw a slash across the kishin's flank, but it blocked the blow extending it black, mangled fingers into whip-like extensions. Black Star dodged out of the way while Kidd took aim and fired Liz and Patti in a series of shots._

_Despite the shinigami's amazing speed, it managed to dodge each shot, moving so quickly it looked like only a blur. Maka shot forward to pin the creature down. Soul's scythe blade caught the goon in his tracks in a scythe catch while Maka delivered a wavelength powered punch to the monster's bloated gut._

_"Kid, Now!"_

_"Bull's eye."_

_Two shots fired perfectly at the exact same time hit the creature in the chest sending it barreling off the cliff's side and down into the waiting arms of the sea._

"_Is it dead?" inquired Maka._

_Black Star, who had been standing not too far away from Maka near the cliff's edge, peered over the ledge. Not seeing any kishin, he let out a low whistle._

"_I doubt anybody could survive that fall," he said turning away from the cliff and walking in Kidd's direction, Tsubaki in hand. Maka simply looked on as he walked away. She was about to follow, but something ticked at the back of her mind. She turned back to face the cliff._

"_Maka…"_

_Soul, still held firmly in Maka's hands, could feel his meister's tension._

"_Maka, what is it?"_

"_I don't know. Something feels off."_

"_Oi! Maka, Soul, Come on!"_

_Soul wiggled in her grip. "Yeah, let's go. We need to pick up the soul before we leave."_

"_Yeah, sorry. I don't know what came over me."_

_Throwing one last glance at the cliff, Maka turned away from the open ocean to head back to the others. None of the teens noticed the whips rise from the cliff's side until a single wire lashed out, latching itself around Maka's right ankle and pulling. Hard._

_Maka was yanked to the ground, flat on her back._

"_Your soul looks delicious," it rasped at her._

_She just barely had enough time to to raise Soul up in defense when the kishin tackled her already prone form. The claws clanged against Soul's steel, metal striking metal. She kicked out with her free leg, hitting the beast square in the chest. It flew backwards without relinquishing the hold it had around her ankle. She flew with it, and the landing was enough to knock the air clean out of her lungs. And she saw stars. She could hear Kidd's gunshots in the background like white noise._

"_Get up, Maka!"_

"_Right."_

_She tried to do as Soul commanded but the kishin dragged her down again, pulling them closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. It struck her again with its whips, but she spun Soul around in front of her deflecting the attacks._

_The move left murdering bastard completely stunned._

_Black Star took the opening, delivering his Soul Menace technique directly into the monster's back. However being so close to the edge, the technique drove the kishin into the ground, cracking the rocky soil keeping the cliff face from crumbling._

_The kishin screamed, throwing its body weight to the side, once again taking Maka with it. Her head slammed hard against a protruding rock. The reverberation from impact mixed with a complete black-out of her vision forced Soul clean out of her hands._

"_Soul!" she cried as her scythe slid far across the ground, but she didn't have time to think as the kishin attacked again. She blocked and dodged each blow rolling around in the limited space as well as she could until another whip wrapped itself around her left wrist._

_Black Star dove again for an attack and nailed an amazing strike clean across its back. The kishin arched back and screeched in agony. Blood spewed forth from the wound staining the ground and some of Maka's clothing._

_She took the opening and threw a punch with her right fist, aiming straight for its head._

_The hit landed, but it sent the creature over the cliff's side. This time it would be dragging Maka with it._

"_Soul!" she cried out._

_Desperate, she grabbed for a handhold, finding purchase on one of the cracks made by Black Star's attack and held on for dear life. Soul ran from his position, trying to get to her, and just as he was about reach her, Soul dove, landing on his stomach arms outstretched. The kishin roared one last time and threw all of its weight against the splintering rock. It came dislodged and crumbled right under their feet, Soul's hand only inches away from Maka's, but it wasn't close enough. She fell through the ground._

"_Maka!"_

_Black Star, who was currently turned away the scene after finishing his attack, turned his head at Soul's cry. His eyes widened as Maka's head disappeared off the side of the cliff, and he started running. The earth beneath Soul's feet began to break apart, but the death scythe didn't seem to care. He was about to dive down after her but a pair of well muscled arms stopped him. He strained against them almost breaking away until another pair of hands gripped him, followed by another pair then another, all pulling him back and away from the edge as the ground continued to fall piece by piece into the sea below_

"_Let me GO! NO! MAKA! Damn you! LET GO OF ME!"_

_The dragged him all the way to the safety of the trees. It was then that someone hit him over the head driving him unconscious._

_He wouldn't be waking up again for several hours. And when he did, it would be to a truth he didn't want to believe._

TBC

Any and all reviews are most welcomed.

1) Manga Spoiler – In the Lust Chapter, all the characters switched gender. After leaving the chapter, they returned to their normal genders at a rate determined by how lustful the character was. Tsubaki was the last one to turn back.


	3. Science

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater. I also do not own the Birthday Massacre's song Science after which this chapter is named.

Author's Note: So I went back and redid this chapter a bit. Added a little of smutty goodness.

Warning: This chapter contains material that is not suitable for children. If you are uncomfortable with the idea of masterbation or sex, please, kindly skip over the parts that have been marked off.

Onward and upward.

Remember Me

Science

There are times, Soul notices, after the nostalgia dissipates and Death City becomes a little easier to handle, he would get the undeniable urge to surround himself with some of the things she loved the most… like books. Lots and lots of books… Not that he did much reading in his free time, mind you. That had always been her pleasure. No, it's more because the very thought of a book reminded him of her.

Hence the reason, he is currently residing in the Shibusen library far from where prying eyes and ears can disturb him.

At the moment, he has laid himself out over one of the many tables hidden away in the restricted section of the gigantic room, arms crossed behind his head in a pillow and one leg crossed over the other. Music blaring away from the headphones currently nestled in his ears. Away from anyone who might seek him out and offer companionship. Away from anything that might tempt him to lash out after the conversation he'd had with Kidd the night before. He might have been the son of Shinigami-sama but who the hell does he think he is talking to Soul like that.

He should have punched him for it.

But Soul is a rational guy. Despite what other people may say or think, he understands where Kidd is coming from. He's worried about him. They're all worried about him. He doesn't want them to worry, but they do anyway, and that isn't cool at all. He appreciates their concern; he really does, but he just can't take their advice no matter how guilty their responses to his actions may make him feel. He isn't looking for death. He would swear it over her grave if they asked him to. It is just too hard to be in Death City where everything screams at him, making it blaringly obvious that she isn't here with him. That she's gone for good this time.

When he's on an assignment, he can forget about that for at least a little while. In the heat of battle, you were forced to forget about everything but the fight going on. He could throw himself into the investigations, the battles, and the chases. Fuck it, even the paperwork could get his mind off of the black hole in the center of his chest threatening to swallow him whole. This reminds him, there is another reason Soul is in the library.

He is waiting.

He had entered the death room not too long ago to speak to Lord Death. Sadly before he could make his intentions known, Spirit arrived, having been formally summoned and therefore taking precedence over his meeting. He'd excused himself, and now, Lord Death is in a private meeting with Spirit not to be disturbed for another hour upon which said meeting finalities would occur. Once that happened, Soul would be entering the Death Room to ask for his next assignment. He needs to get out of Death City ASAP, before he is driven insane by one or all of his neurotic friends, namely Black Star and Kidd. But checking his watch, he still has fifty-five minutes to waste and nothing better to do with the time than doze.

And so he slips into the darkness of his mind.

(Explicit)

"_Soul…"_

_ Her moans are music to his ears, a symphony of hums and whines, her long legs wrapped tightly around his back pulling him closer and deeper into her lithe body. His hands roam over her body searching, feeling while his lips assault her collarbone. His fingers twine with sandy blond locks of hair and pull gently. He nips gently at her neck, and her back arches into a perfect bow, a gasp escaped from kiss-swollen lips. Her hands move from their resting place on his shoulder blades to his chest where her nails dig into his skin._

"_Ah… Soul!" she cries at a particularly sharp thrust._

_She grips his shoulders and presses roughly, switching their positions. He groans as she sits up continuing to ride him at a fast but steady tempo. Green eyes never avert their gaze as she looks at him with all the desire in the world. He can feel his lower abs begin to tighten. His toes curl into the mattress, and he bucks his hips in response to her movements over him. Just a little further._

_She scatters slow, sensual kisses across his chest and neck making her way to his ear lobe to tug on the appendage with her teeth. His panting escalates to a fever pitch, the frequency climbing into the triple digits. His hands find purchase on her hips so he could move her faster, always faster_

"_Cum for me, Soul."_

"_Nngh, I'm so close, baby."_

"_Come find me."_

_She kisses him, roughly, pushing him further and further over the edge. Her muscles contract around him. He feels them tight as a vice around him. It's all the clincher he needs to send him spiraling up and up into the clouds of ecstasy._

"_Find me, Soul!"_

"_Ah… Ma-"_

(End Explicit content)

Soul shakes himself awake.

His breathing hard, his hands shaking. That was definitely not what he had been expecting when he closed his eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

He shifts to a sitting position, a move that drew his attention to a now very hypersensitive part of his anatomy. Thank the lord of death that his pants are tight enough to hide his arousal.

He carefully stands up from the table. He needs to get rid of this problem fast, preferably before anybody sees him in this condition. He spares a quick glance at his watch. He has fifteen minutes until his meeting with Lord Death.

It is about 12:30 in the afternoon. By this time of day all students are either at lunch or in their lecture rooms. And PE classes are long since over. The locker rooms should be empty. That's where he decides to go. A cold shower would do him good.

He makes his way at a subdued pace to the locker room. It is empty just as he'd expected. Grabbing a towel and some soap, he makes his way into the wash room, undressing. He sets his clothes down on a bench far enough away to avoid water damage. He physically winces at the sight of his straining erection. The engorged flesh strains and pulses in a perfect arch below his belly, and God, does it hurt.

He groans, stepping beneath his chosen shower head and turning the water on full blast as cold as it could go. It rains ice onto his head, and he flinches when the freezing water makes contact with his sensitive organ. He prays and begs any deity that will listen that this be the fastest shower he's ever had to take. Either the gods hate him or the cosmos is paying him back three-fold for all the bullshit he's made them put with over the years because he arousal does not diminish in the slightest.

He growls in frustration looking down with complete distaste to his straining flesh. He takes one last glance around before resigning himself to his fate. The coast is still clear, thankfully.

(Turn away for Citrus)

His right hand raises with a shaky diligence to wrap around his manhood. His eyes slide shut as he begins to pump, hissing between his teeth. Her face is a beckon before his mind's eye. She works him over into a fine frenzy using lips and teeth and tongue. Deceptively strong hands, small in appearance and so much softer than his own rough digits, pump and squeeze him up and down gaining speed with every downward thrust.

He groans as the mental image of a blonde pig tails bobbing along this length assaults him and he throws his head back pushing faster and faster. A raw stroking, one hand pulls on his freedom while the other braces against the shower wall, and he pushes himself into the welcome oblivion that comes with his orgasm. A temporary escape from reality. It lets him forget everything.

(Return)

"Hey, who's in here?"

He almost jumps at the sound of an intruder on his privacy, but just grits his teeth instead, making himself so that he appears innocent enough. Not like someone who'd just wanked in the shower.

And he turns his head toward the entrance. Ox enters looking every bit the disgruntled professor her can be at times.

"Oh, Soul it's just you."

He shuts the water off and wraps a towel around his waist.

"Yeah. I was just finishing."

"Ah, still, sorry about that. I thought you might be one of the students sneaking a quick one in the shower. You know how kids are these days."

Soul can't help but suppress a laugh as Ox turns around to head back out the door. He will never have any idea how close to the truth he was with that statement. Well at least the "little" problem he'd woken up with has gone down considerably.

With that he redresses and heads straight down to the death room. He gets there with two minutes to spare.

"Ah, Soul-kun. Come in, come in. We're all done in here."

He enters at the Shinigami's bidding, walking all the way to the center platform. Spirit stands dutifully beside Lord Death with his hands in his pockets looking quite relaxed. The two scythes trade a nod of mutual acknowledgement. He hopes to everything merciful and holy that he doesn't look like a guy that was just interrupted trying to jack off to an image of the man's dead daughter.

"Now, what did you want to speak with me about?"

"Lord Death. I've come to request my next assignment."

Spirit's eyes widen and Shinigami-sama seems a bit taken a back.

"But you only just got back."

"I know but I'm ready for my next task."

The ruler of death and his death scythe exchange fleeting a glance.

"I'm sorry, Soul, but I am not prepared to send you on a new assignment."

"I'm sorry… what?"

The both visibly wince at the tone of voice Soul uses.

Spirit looks at Shinigami-sama out of the corner of his eye, a nervous smile on his face, and says, "Perhaps you'd better explain it to him."

Lord Death sighs.

"Soul, do you know why Spirit is my primary weapon?"

Soul gives him a look like he'd grown another head.

"Yeah, because he's the strongest of us."

"Yes and no."

Soul raises an eyebrow at him, looking back and forth between the two older men before him.

"You see, Soul. I as the grim reaper favor a scythe as my weapon of choice, hence the reason why you and your comrades are called "Death Scythes."

Soul nods.

"However, the majority of you are not demon scythes. In fact, the only ones who are scythes are Spirit, here and you yourself, Soul."

Understanding dawns slowly on Soul's expression. That's when Spirit steps forward.

"I am being sent on an extended assignment overseas. During that time, Lord Death has decided to keep you here to undergo training under him so that you may be his primary weapon in my absence. You're still young yet, but you show amazing promise as a Death Scythe."

"So, Soul, what do you say? Care to take the final step in your training as a Death Scythe?"

Soul doesn't know what to say. The expression on his face is one of a lost soul. This is the moment he's been working toward ever since he left behind his family to pursue a career as a weapon with the DWMA. This is also the moment he should have been able to share with the person who helped him toward this. This was a moment that had only been made possible by his meister, and his meister, alone.

But she isn't here.

Lord Death seems to sense the conflicting emotions warring within the weapon. Anger, accomplishment, pride, sorrow… They all just jumble together in Soul's heart.

"Spirit, tell me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it Maka's dream to make Soul into a Death Scythe worthy of my use?"

"No, that's true."

"I'm sure she'd be proud to see Soul come so far." He addresses the still silent death scythe. "Of course, if you feel you're not ready, I don't see the harm in allowing you to take Spirit's assignment."

Soul looks up then, staring directly into the eye-holes of Shinigami's mask, determination gracing his features.

"No. I'm ready. I will remain here under your orders, Shinigami-sama."

"Excellent. Report to me tomorrow. Your training will start in due time. Dismissed."

Soul bows his head slightly before turning around and exiting the huge chamber. Melancholy seems to be gripping at his insides, poking at the black blood's madness with a torched stick. His left fist is clenched in his pocket, and he can feel the blunt nails biting into the skin of his palm. His teeth clench in a grimace as he tries to push away the anger just bubbling below the surface.

"Soul, wait up."

His head jerks up and around to see Spirit walking toward him.

"Got a minute?"

The tension eases from his body.

"I guess. What for?"

The older death scythe shoots him his typical half grin before answering. He and Spirit aren't exactly on 'let's have a friendly chat' terms. Course that wasn't to say they disliked each other. Soul raises an eyebrow at him more than a little suspicious of this random interaction between them.

"Care to grab some lunch? It's on me."

* * *

><p>Bang, bang, bang, bang!<p>

"Hey, Death the Kidd, open the damn door before I break it down!"

Two seconds later a very irritated shinigami opens the abused piece of wood to glare at the blue-haired, loud-mouthed ninja he, sometimes painstakingly, calls a friend. He doesn't even say anything. He just steps aside narrowly avoiding a shove as Black Star moves past him. Tsubaki, always the pacifist, smiles apologetically as she follows her meister.

"Come on, Kidd! What was so damn important that you called at 7 in the fucking morning telling us to come to your mansion as soon as possible?"

"I don't see what _you're_ complaining about. Tsubaki was the one who answered the phone, and it's almost one in the afternoon."

"I'm the man who will surpass god remember. Guy like that needs his sleep to be uninterrupted."

And thus the two bicker all the way to where Kidd's two weapons are. Liz and Patti are relaxing in the lounge when the commotion reaches them. Tsubaki takes a seat on the couch next to Liz. Patti giggles while her sister just rolls her eyes as Kidd finally has had enough of Black Star's antics.

"Will you just shut up and sit down, so I can tell you why I asked you to come over!"

Black Star quickly sets himself on the coffee table, arms crossed and his lower lips jutting out to the side waiting for his explanation.

"We have a new mission."

"We? You mean all of us?"

"Yes, it's a joint mission to Mexico City."

"Ooooh how fun! All you can eat enchiladas," cheers Patti.

"Yes, Patti, I'm sure we can find a restaurant that can cater to you and Black Star's appetites."

"Yay!"

"What are the mission details?" asks Tsubaki.

"Over the last several months, many of the locals have been disappearing only to appear a week later in critical condition."

"Critical condition?" Liz echoes.

Kidd nods, humming in the affirmative.

"They were almost completely drained of blood."

"Oh my god," gasps Liz.

"It is suspected that a witch is involved. That's where we come in."

"So basically all we need to do is track down this witch and get rid of her," drawls a bored Black Star. "Great! When do we leave?"

"See, this is why I called you so early. Our plane was due to leave… oh," he makes a drama about checking his watch. "Three hours ago."

Everybody sweatdrops.

* * *

><p>Spirit has pulled Soul into a neat little café called <em>Déjeuner de la Mort <em>(a.). A quiet little restaurant owned by a French family. Fancy name but the food variety was quite simple: sandwiches, pastas, and soups. It's the perfect place to have lunch and a conversation.

The two death scythes settle themselves in a secluded section of the dining area. Being weapons of their classification, the two have a level of popularity that can be counted as celebrity in Death City. It's better to shy away from the attention the majority of the time. Spirit liked to bask in it every so often, but as of late in character to his transformation, he much preferred the company of those closest to him rather than the paparazzi. It did nothing but annoy Soul.

After their waiter, a young Academy student, takes their orders, they settle into a bit of a silence, Soul staring out the nearby window and Spirit more than a little uncertain as to how to broach the subject he's been asked to address with the younger male.

Soul takes a sip from his coke.

"Congratulations on the promotion."

Crimson eyes widen in surprise looking at the redhead.

"Thanks," he said tentatively. "But doesn't that mean you've been demoted."

Spirit laughs under his breath.

"Not quite yet. At this point, I would say we are on equal footing."

"And once we've past that point."

"Then I would say I've been demoted, and you would have officially surpassed me." Spirit sighs staring off into the bustling streets of Death City. "It would be just the way she wanted."

Soul's shoulders tense slightly but it's only for a second. Then, he relaxes taking another sip of his drink.

"Yeah. She always did want to surpass her mother by making me stronger than you."

"I'm glad her dream came true. …Even though she's not here to see it."

"Yeah…" sighs Soul.

Shallow blue eyes study the younger death scythe with warm calculation. The boy is hurting. That much is obvious, but he doesn't know the first thing to do to make this stubborn youth feel better. See, that's the thing about losing someone you care about. Everybody has a different way of dealing with the pain of loss. Everybody has a different time of mourning. Everybody has a different measure of understanding and acceptance.

But what was Soul's?

The waiter brings them their food, asking if there is anything else either of the two needs before scampering off to the kitchen, away from the tense atmosphere surrounding the two males.

"How are you holding up?"

Soul's fork comes through the pasta on his plate idly.

"I'm here," he murmurs gingerly taking the first bite of his meal.

Spirit chews on a piece of his sandwich before swallowing and taking a drink of the Sprite sweating by his left hand. He's about to speak again but Soul beats him to it.

"Did Kidd ask you to speak to me?"

He chokes, fighting to keep from coughing up his drink. 'Smart little bastard, isn't he,' he thinks giving the white-haired male before him a look.

"Whatever your opinion of me may be, Maka would never have paired up with a dumbass."

He chews another forkful of food.

Spirit just stares before shaking his head and answering.

"How did you guess?"

"I just figured as much. You and I don't exactly get along, so this outing is more than a little suspicious, and Kidd approached me last night at Black Star's."

"Did he?" mumbles Spirit, taking another bite of his sandwich. "And what, pray tell, was this conversation about?"

Soul shakes his head. Why is he even bringing this up? And with Spirit of all people.

"They're worried about me. I told him they shouldn't be."

The elder death scythe furrows his brow at the younger.

"You can hardly blame them for worrying. You haven't been the same since the accident."

"They expect me to act the same. How can they! What, do they expect me to forget what happened? They expect me to move on like she was never here. I can't do that."

The fork stabs a little too harshly into a piece of chicken. Spirit looks sadly at the albino.

"We don't expect you to forget, Soul."

Crimson stares straight into ocean blue.

"We just want you to be happy."

Soul looks down at his lap.

"I don't think I remember how to be happy…" Spirit stays silent. "I don't remember what it feels like to dream, to hope. I can't remember what warmth feels like. I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore."

Silence still…

"The only thing I want to remember is her."

Spirit's eyes soften at the boy in front of him. No, Soul wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man, now. A man Spirit could respect.

"She was my daughter," Spirit nods. "I know she and I didn't get along very well, that was my fault, but Maka was and will always be my little girl. I always wish I'd been able to take better care of her. And I miss her."

Soul looks at Spirit like he's seeing a completely different person.

"No, that was my responsibility as her weapon."

"And it was mine as her parent."

The stare at each other a moment before Spirit shakes his head, a soft chuckle on the air.

"You know, Soul, I think I might've misjudged you. You would've made a good son-in-law."

Soul's eyes widen, but then he looks back down at the table.

"You've changed, Spirit."

The redhead smiles softly.

"It's how I've dealt with my grief."

He reaches across the table placing a hand over Soul's wrist.

"Now you need to deal with yours."

"What if I can't let her go?"

"You'll find your way. It's slow going, but you'll make it down your path."

"Where does it start?"

Spirit looks thoughtful a moment.

"When was the last time you opened her bedroom door?"

When Soul doesn't answer, he continues.

"Start there."

He takes his hand back and gives his attention to his meal.

"Eat up before it gets cold."

Soul shakes his head, a small smile on his face and complies.

* * *

><p>Maristela Velasquez loved to read on lazy Saturday afternoons. She'd lay herself out in the sun room on one of the day beds and curl up with a new story book. Today, she's reading through something she doesn't always go out of her way to read through. It is a non-fiction about the founding of the Death Weapon Meister Academy in Death City, Nevada.<p>

She doesn't quite know what drew her to it, but when she saw the history book in the library, she just couldn't help but check it out. She reads about the original kishin Azura and how he devoured his weapon partner to gain power. She reads about the Lord Death defeating the god of madness and establishing the school to prevent such an abomination from every being created again.

She reads about the witch that revived the original kishin and set him loose on the world, and she reads about the kishin's defeat to a group of Academy students under the name Spartoi, now a permanent regiment of Shibusen as it is in its second generation of students. She reads how the original six meisters and their weapon partners had taken down the kishin for good with a young seventeen-year-old girl by the name of Maka Albarn delivering the final blow to the creature of insanity with just the use of her fist.

It was truely a fascinating story.

She has been looking through the book for profiles on these teenagers, but nothing is printed to identify them. It makes her hum in annoyance. Shibusen may not have been adverse to the world knowing about their existence, but they sure were secretive.

She opens up another book she'd found at the library on Shibusen.

She wants to learn more about this Maka girl. She seems like someone she would like…

_She is fighting._

_Across from her stands a very thin, pink-haired fighter wearing a long black dress. The thick sword in his/her right hand is vibrating at an incredibly high frequency, almost like the blade itself is screaming._

_The black blade comes down hard on her as she raises the weapon in her hand, a long scythe, to block. The vibrations cut through the steel of the handle, and she feels more than hears the outcry of her weapon. The reflection in the blade of a teenage boy with white hair, sharp teeth, and a thick headband on howls in agony._

_The demon swordsman continues his/her assault on her, and seeing the damage done to her partner, she refuses to block any more attacks. The scythe demon screams at her though, but she can't hear anything, too immersed in her panic and fear to process any external stimulation. She can't even control her own movements. It's like watching a horror movie playback in first person point of view._

_The swordsman pushes her back until finally he delivers a swipe at her legs that makes her stumble backwards until she finds herself cornered against the door._

_Then she starts pounding on the doors trying to get them to open to no avail. Her attacker is saying something, but her ears on deaf in this twisted reality. Then, he rushes at her, sword raised high over his head. Her scythe screams at her again. This time she yells back, refusing to move and bracing herself for death._

_The sword came down, but she doesn't feel anything._

_Instead, she sees the scythe transform into his human form, a boy no older than fourteen, wearing a yellow letterman jacket and burgundy pants. The attack hits him directly across the chest._

_Her eyes widen as the blood splatters._

Maristela gasps, bringing herself back to the safety of the sun room.

"What the hell was that?"

She doesn't know how or what had triggered it. It was like her whole body just seized up, and suddenly she was in a different time and place, doing things she's never done in her entire life. She's never picked up a weapon in her entire life, let alone a demon scythe.

"¿Mari, todo está bien?"

"¡Si, mama, no es nada!"(b.)

She lies back on the daybed with a huff. The books underneath her falls off the cushions and onto the floor with a soft clatter drawing her attention. One of the books lands open on a page titled "Death Scythes."

She picks it up and continues reading.

TBC

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. More to come soon.

Please Review!

a French for "Lunch of Death."

b Translation – "Mari, is everything alright?" "Yes, mama, it's nothing!"


	4. Innocent Hearts

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or the song title which is Innocent Hearts by Elis.

Long Chapter Alert! You may need to take a break halfway through this one.

Have fun!

Remember Me

Innocent Hearts

Soul's training with Lord Death started tomorrow. It had been almost two days since he'd had lunch with Spirit, but still he hadn't taken the man's advice.

He intended to do so today.

It was about 11 in the morning, the Nevada heat rising from steaming to unbearable quickly. The malicious sun was laughing in the blue Nevada sky as though mocking the pitiful humans running around beneath it. Soul had just gotten out of the shower after his early morning workout. A towel hung around his neck catching any stray rivulets of water that might fall from his hair, and he was wearing a pair of black sweat pants and a white wife-beater.

He was currently standing in the doorway to his room staring straight across the expanse to Maka's door.

"Come on, Soul. What are you waiting for? Just do it."

But he's a fucking coward who can barely even walk past the foreboding door without wincing. Maybe if he just had a bit of Maka's old courage...

And, despite the fear drifting along the current of his soul, he's walking across the room, putting his hand on the doorknob, twisting and opening the door. He feels the madness creeping in, always there like itch he couldn't scratch. He'd stayed as far away as he could from here the last two years, but now the door is open and he's peeking inside.

He thinks the bottom of his stomach just dropped.

The room was exactly the way she'd left it two years before. The bed was neatly made up. Her books stacked in order on the bookshelf. The desk was bare save for an open textbook positioned underneath the desk lamp as though she'd been studying but had been interrupted – he smirked. Oh, yeah, he remembered that day.

The room was a bit dusty which was to be expected after two years of neglect, but it still smelt like her. This was her sanctuary. Sure he'd almost always been welcome inside, and yeah, about six months into their relationship, she'd started sleeping in his room more often than not, but this was always her room. Her clothes were still in the closet. Her mother's trench coat, the one she'd been wearing when they first met, was hanging over a chair in the corner. And the top of the dresser was littered with her various hair and face products.

Walking over, he picked up one of her combs. Beneath it was revealed the natural dark finish of the wood and a perfect outline of the comb made in dust. He dragged a finger across the varnish before rubbing his thumb across the now dirtied pad. He wrinkled his nose.

Maka would not approve.

And so he got to work.

* * *

><p>The group was taking in the sights. Black Star, Tsubaki, Death the Kidd, Liz, and Patti had been allotted three days in Mexico to track down the witch. Today was their last day, and having defeated the witch the night before and taken stock of what her research had entailed, they decided to use up the time they had before their flight out to explore Mexico City.<p>

"Hey, Kidd, look over here! It's so pretty."

Liz and Patti had dragged their friends to the central marketplace - much to Black Star and Kidd's chagrin, but the girls were having a blast, and that's all that mattered. Patti was currently showing Kidd a piece of jewelry she had just found at a small stand from across the street. It was a simple silver chain necklace with three gems dangling from the center. The center gem was black with a skull engraved on the face and a little larger than the two white gems on either side of it.

The vendor of the stand was showing his merchandise to all three girls as they ogled the accessories. When he saw Patti call out to Kidd, he perked up, hoping to make a sale no doubt.

"Tócalo, señor."

He waved his reluctance to the man, but gave Patti the permission to buy the item much to the weapon and gentleman's delight.

"You know you spoil those two," Black Star observed. The taller, blue-haired meister was flipping through a comic book of sorts pretending to mind his own business.

"Hardly," replied the reaper as he went back to perusing the book in front of him. He and the loud-mouthed shinobi had taken position at a stand that sold various magazines, newspapers, comics, and books.

"I guess they deserve it though," continued Black Star with a smirk. "…Having to put up with your ass all the time. Haha." He laughed as he threw aside the comic he'd been looking through back on the table.

"Yes, I'm sure they have quite a time of it, Black Star," he said more than a little exasperated. "Just as I'm sure Tsubaki has quite a time babysitting you."

He put the book down and gestured to the vendor to purchase it. Black Star spoke again as he passed the requested monetary amount to the lady that was running the stand.

"Che, as if! Bet cha can't even remember the last time I got myself into trouble."

Actually now that Kidd thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the poor weapon sputtering apologies in Black Star's wake. The thirteen year old who used to crow all day and all night had become far more subdued over the years. Granted, his OCD wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be either.

"Whatever you say, Black Star."

"Hah, that's right. Heed my divine words." The sentence rolling of his tongue thick with every intention of baiting him.

Burnt sienna rolled skyward. Some things never change.

"Hey, Kidd, do you think Soul will still be in town by the time we get back?"

Change of topic... Odd.

"I don't see why he wouldn't be," he said as he continued to look through his purchase. "Father refuses to give him another mission, and with Spirit gone on an assignment, Soul's the only death scythe available to him. In fact, I think Soul is to be starting his training to be a reaper's scythe."

"Good. He's always way too eager to take off again whenever he gets back. And besides I need to fill him in on all my godly adventures."

Kidd chuckled.

"Yes, it certainly seems he hasn't been around much these last two years. I worry about him sometimes."

"You know, I overheard that little 'exchange' you two had at the party the other day."

"You heard what he said then."

"You bet I did. Stubborn bastard. I like to see what _she'd _do to him, if she knew how he's been acting."

"Yes, a few good chops to the head might be just what the doctor ordered to snap him out of this meaningless and reckless cycle. I can hardly bear to think about what might happen if something doesn't change soon."

Black Star raised a brow at his long time rival before he continued.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that none of us want to bury another comrade any time soon."

Black Star nodded.

"I think you mean friend, Kidd."

"Right…" he said with a small smile.

"Black Star, you have to come see this!" came Tsubaki's voice from somewhere behind him. Without looking, Black Star turned and ran straight into a young woman that had been standing right behind him. She had approached the stand completely unnoticed by the pair as they'd continued their conversation and had just finished purchasing a book. Upon colliding with the male, she had dropped everything that had been in her hands.

Black Star froze at her appearance.

Looking her over now, she had ashy blonde hair and lightly tanned skin. Her hair was done up in two French braids tied off with black ribbons. She was wearing a white tunic with pink beading along the neckline and a pink peasant skit that reached to just below her knees. But what had startled the meister the most had been her eyes, her pupil-less forest green eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she murmured quickly and dove down to pick up her things. Black Star's eyes widened at the sound of her voice. His hands shot out and gripped her a little tighter than necessary around her bicep,s stopping her from bending over.

"M-Maka…" he stammered too stunned to do anything but stare at her.

Kidd, who hadn't been paying much attention to the commotion, looked over at Black Star's muted exclamation only to stare in awe at the woman before them. Was it really…

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know who you are."

"No, Maka. Come on it's me! It's Black Star!" he half yelled gesturing wildly between himself and her.

"I'm terribly sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. My name is Maristela."

"No! Wait, Maka-"

Kidd pulled Black Star off of the now distressed girl.

"I so sorry, miss. My friend here seems to be a bit confused. Let me help you."

And he bent to retrieve her items: a black messenger bag, a small bouquet of sunflowers, a bag of groceries, and the book she had just finished purchasing. His eyes glanced over the title of the book as he picked it up. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery, it had been one of Maka's favorites. She slipped the bag over her shoulders so that it hung on her right side and the bag of groceries over her left wrist. She then cradled the sunflowers in her arms before reaching for the book still in Kidd's hand.

"Muchos gracias, señor," she said placing it in the careful fold of her arms behind the flowers so that is rested against her chest.

"De nada, señorita, but may I ask what your name was?"

"Ah, yes. My name is Maristela Velasquez. And you are?"

"I'm Death the Kidd," he answered placing a hand on his chest before gesturing at the man still sputtering at his side. "...and my clumsy friend here's name is Black Star. Your English is very good, are you originally from here?"

She hesitated before answering.

"I, well I live with my parents, but I recently had to relearn Spanish after an accident."

"An accident?"

"Yes, two years ago, I got into a bad accident. But umm... Where are you from?"

"Oh, we're from Death City, Nevada."

Her eyes seemed to light up.

"Oh! So you must work for the Death God."

"So you've heard of it."

"Of course. I've read a lot about the DWMA. That must be amazing."

"It's an exciting lifestyle."

She giggled.

"I sometimes wish I could be a weapon or a meister. It must be so wonderful being able to go on adventures and see the world-"

"Hey Kidd! Black Star! What are you two doing?"

"Over here, Liz. Just chatting with a friend."

The girls hurried over to where they were standing only to gasp at the young woman Kidd was speaking to.

"Oh my God! Ma-"

"Ah, girls," interrupted Kidd. "This is Maristela. Black Star kind of ran into her."

Tsubaki looked at the confused blonde like her heart had just been pulled from her chest. Black Star moved quickly, placing his body between her and the blonde, and pulling her into his arms.

Mari shifted a little uncomfortable with all the attention she was getting from these strangers.

"I'm sorry. I really should be heading home."

"Of course, of course. Sorry to keep you."

"It was lovely meeting you," said the blonde before she scampered away, disappearing in the crowd. Everyone was silent until Tsubaki turned to Kidd, peeking around Black Star's shoulder. Her voice was thick with shock and potential tears.

"Was that..."

He looked from Liz's disturbed face to the mirrored look on her sister's to Tsubaki's sad almost lost expression and finally to Black Star's frustrated frown.

"I need to speak to my father."

* * *

><p>"Father…"<p>

"Hi yah, Kidd… Oh and company. Hello, hello how goes it?"

Yes, _everyone_ was standing in front of the mirror, having insisted on being present at the "meeting" between father and son. And, man, had it been an ordeal to squeeze five fully grown bodies into the tiny hotel bathroom. Imagine the size of your closet; add in a sink, a toilet, some towel racks, and a shower. _That's_ what they were working with.

Kidd stood in front of the sink, Liz next to him behind the door. Tsubaki was sitting on the toilet seat on the other side of Kidd next to Black Star who was half in, half out of the shower. Patti was in the shower leaning over Black Star's head to get at least partial view of the mirror.

"Everything is fine, Father. We've completed our assignment."

"So the witch's soul has been taken."

"Hell Yeah! Big guy like me didn't even break a sweat! Oof…" – Black Star

Kidd threw the soap bar at him. Patti giggled behind a dainty palm as he slid completely into the tub.

"Yes, Father, but we had an unexpected surprise."

"Oh…"

"Yes, and we'd like some more time to investigate this revelation."

"And what may I ask was this unexpected occurrence?"

Kidd raised an elegant eyebrow and tried to look past his father and into the death room. Unable to see much, he asked in a quiet curiousity.

"Is Soul around?"

Shinigami-sama held a puzzled expression on his face… mask… face… oh you know what I mean.

"Not at the moment. Why? Should I summon him?"

"No, no, you see umm… we sort of ran into this girl at the marketplace today."

"Mhmm…"

"Yeah!" Liz this time though a little hesitantly. "It was… Well, at least, she looked like her..."

"Looked like who?"

"MAKA!" Black Star again. He'd jumped up from the floor. "It was definitely her! I could recognize that voice anywhere!"

The holes in the mask widened considerably.

"Really now?"

"Yes, Father, it's true."

"Do you have confirmation?"

"Yes, using my soul perception. Soul wavelengths are unique to the individual. No two are alike, and her Grigori soul is unique as it gets. (a) That was definitely her."

"Fantastic!" he exclaimed bouncing around as though in a victory dance. "Oh, Soul and Spirit will be over the moon when they hear this! Where is she? Is she with you? Let me see! Let me see!"

Seeing Kidd and the rest of the group's downcast expressions, the lord of death ceased his mini celebration.

"Kidd…?"

"There is a slight problem, Father..."

"Go on."

"I believe that due to the trauma of the accident she has developed a severe case of amnesia. She has no recollection of who we are or of who she is. She introduced herself as Maristela Velasquez, and says she is under the care of two people she believes to be her parents."

"Hmm…," he hummed his fingers worrying the spikes of his chin. "That is definitely a problem."

"Yes, which is why I would like to request more time here, so that we can convince her and whoever has taken care of her all this time who she really is and bring her back to Death City with us."

"Very well. Request granted. Take however long you need."

"Thank you, Father."

Everyone gave a small cheer in celebration of the permission.

"Just bring Maka Albarn back to Death City. She has a far better chance of recovering her memories here."

"Of course."

"Very well. Good luck, kids."

He was about to terminate the connection, but a cry from his son stalled him.

"Oh, Father, Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Please, don't tell Soul. Or Spirit for that matter"

His four teammates looked at Kidd in shock.

"That's a little cruel, don't you think?" asked Liz with a frown on her face.

"Yeah, Soul has a right to know," put in Patti.

"I know, I know. But just think about it. If Soul finds out Maka is alive and in Mexico, what's the first thing he's going to do?" He paused, waiting for an answer. When none came, he continued. "He'll barrel his way down here, completely disregarding his already given orders, getting himself into trouble and possible making an already delicate situation worse. Maka was confused enough when Black Star ran into her and tried to convey to her who he was. Imagine if that had been Soul."

"You do have a point, Kidd," said Lord Death looking at them through the mirror. He sighed "Very well. I don't like it, but I will keep Soul in the dark about the situation for now, but," he emphasized holding his pointer finger to the glass. "Once you all get back here, Maka included, I expect you to tell him exactly what has happened."

"Of course, Dad. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Very good. Now, good luck to you all. Hope to see you soon!"

And with that, the mirror went blank.

Liz turned to Kidd.

"So what's the plan?"

Kidd scratched his head a moment before answering.

"Well, first things first. We have to find the Velasquez's."

* * *

><p>(Death City)<p>

Soul had been at it all day, and now as the sun set behind the horizon, he admired his handiwork. He'd washed the sheets on the bed, beaten any dust out of the mattress, aired out the closet, swept the dust off the floor and furniture, even gone through and dusted the bookcase. Blair had passed by a few times, offering to help. He'd told her not to worry about it and that he was fine doing this alone. She had left to go to work about an hour ago.

Upon finishing up, he'd taken another shower to rinse off the dirt and dust that had settled over his skin. And now that he was lying on Maka's bed taking in the clean atmosphere and going through one of her photo albums, he felt strangely at peace.

It felt like she was nearby. Like she could walk in at any moment and smile at him for a job well done.

Looking through the album, he realized it was the same one she had been looking through after the "super" written exam they'd taken under Professor Stein. He hadn't seen it since that day though. He'd already flipped through the old photos of Maka growing up with her father and found that Maka had put some new memories in the album that weren't from that long ago.

He laughed when he found a picture of Maka and Black Star standing next to each other, both sporting matching bruises on the sides of their cheeks (Maka's was just a little darker than Black Star's, more swollen too). It was taken the day of their Duel Arts dilemma when the two had been in opposition. There was one of him sleeping on the couch, drool coming out of his mouth. There was one of Crona and Marie, followed by a picture of their team after a game of basketball. He found another of him and Maka together at a restaurant. He remembered this one; they'd been on a double date with Tsubaki and Black Star. The next was a group picture of Spartoi taken after Kidd's rescue from the Book of Eibon.

He raised an eyebrow at the last picture he found. It was one of him stealing a kiss from Maka in the Academy hallway against the lockers. Okay, it had been a bit more than a kiss, but he definitely didn't remember posing for that one.

He carefully removed the photo from the book and looked at the back.

**Hey Maka, **

**You're lucky I don't use this as blackmail material, but I'll be nice this time and give this to you. Word of caution though, it could have easily been someone else walking down the halls at exactly the right time to witness such a great show. Someone like, say, your father! Hehehe. Don't worry I won't tell.**

**Love,**

**Patti**

He shook his head and placed it back. Patti would. That conniving little blonde. The demon gun could be insanely sadistic at times. He was surprised he didn't get an earful from Maka about the incident.

He kept looking through the album.

The pictures finished just as he reached the last page. It was full of some shots of them together. One in particular was during a training session. She was wearing her gym clothes, and he was in scythe form. She was practically glowing, in her element, with a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin and her cheeks flushed. It made a smile come to his eyes.

Beneath that picture however was just enough room for one more photograph. His heart clenched, knowing she would never be able to complete the album.

With a sigh, he closed the book and placed it back in its designated spot on her bookshelf. He lowered the blinds to the window and left the room, closing the door behind him. He wanders into his own room and plops down into his desk chair. He can't help but think that he knows exactly what picture would have eventually ended up filling the last open spot in the album. He leans over, opening the desk drawer and pulling out a little black box.

He opens it, peering at the simple diamond ring nestled between the cushions.

* * *

><p>(Mexico City)<p>

Liz was not going anywhere near that house. She'd decided that the moment they'd wandered up to it. This detective and investigation shit was not for her. Any other time of day, and she would have been perfectly fine. What was it about Spanish homes that made them look so damn hostile after sundown?

Actually, looking at the place, it was really a lovely home. Classical white pillars decorated in ivy lined the entryway, and the Spanish molding of the brick was spotlessly executed. The roof wasn't in shackles, and all of the windows were intact if not a little dusty. Well tended roses thrived along the rails guarding the steps up to the threshold. She could admit that during the daytime, this place would probably be one of the first places she'd love to visit… But it wasn't daytime, and her experience at the last house had been damn near horrifying.

What had Kidd been thinking going to a place in the middle of the woods? The lawn had been dead for Shinigami's sake. She'd been scared enough as it was, but no, Patti just had to come up behind her and bellow "BOO" at the top of her lungs.

No, compared to the last house. This manor was the most elegant thing she'd ever seen. Didn't stop her from being a total scaredy-cat though.

"Do we have to?"

"Liz, I'm telling you this is the house."

"That's what you said about the last three houses."

"But this is the one, I'm sure of it."

"How?"

"I just am!"

"Well, can't we just come back tomorrow, when it's daylight?"

"No! We need to move quickly with this!"

Liz just glared at him, taking none too kindly to being yelled at.

"Will you just knock on the door already?" asked an exasperated Kidd.

She looked at him.

"Please…" he added.

He heaved an internal sigh as, finally, her arms uncrossed and she moved toward the door.

Knock

Knock

Knock

Liz didn't even wait more than five seconds after knocking before turning around.

"Well, no one's home. I guess it's the wrong house."

He grabbed her shoulder before she could scurry back to the others waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps.

"Now, wait just a minute. It may take them some time to answer.

They waited thirty more seconds before Kidd decided to ring the doorbell.

Ding-Dong

No more than ten seconds later an older woman answered the door. She was somewhat pale with long black hair, gray just barely gracing her temple. She was quite beautiful for her age, full of vibrancy and grace. Warm brown eyes took in the two youths standing before her as she opened the door completely without any note of suspicion or wariness in her gesture.

"¿Hola?" A sweet, Chicano accent filled the air.

Kidd jumped to answer.

"Ah, buenos noches, señora. ¿Pero, usted puede hablar en Inglés?" (b)

"¡Oh, perdóname! Si, si… Yes. Can I help you?"

"Is this the Velasquez residence?"

"Why, yes! I'm Rosanna. My husband, Escobar, is in the living room, and our daughter is at work. And who might you all be?"

"We are representatives of Shibusen. I'm Death the Kidd, and these are my teammates," he explained gesturing to Liz and everyone else who was currently making their way up the stairs.

The woman's eyebrow twitched, but he's not sure if he imagined it or not.

"Oh! You're from Death City. Well, then, how may I help you?"

He hesitated only a moment.

"We were wondering if we could talk to you about your daughter, Maristela."

Mrs. Velasquez's face hardened and her lips tremble ever so slightly as understanding lights her features. She looked at them all, one by one taking in their faces. It seemed for a moment as though she recognized them from somewhere before she called back into the house.

"¡Escobar, tenemos invitados!" (c)

A muffled response was heard from inside the house, and she looked back at them.

"We were wondering when you'd come."

* * *

><p>The Velasquez's were a humble pair. They made good money in life and had established a peaceful living in the Districto Federal's suburbia. Sra. Velasquez had set about making tea for them as they entered the house, and she led them to congregate in the large and, to Kidd's observation, tidy kitchen. Once the five of them had been settled in, she flitted off to get something they might want to see. Escobar, or Sr. Velasquez, a tall, dark-skinned man in that appeared to be in his early fifties, was seated across from them as he waited for his wife to reenter the room. He eyed the youngsters with an unwavering and, to some (ehem, Liz), unnerving stare. Black Star, not to be outdone, sat with his arms crossed over his chest and stared right back at the Spanish gentleman.<p>

His weapon is discreetly kicking him under the table for being rude when the elder woman reenters the room, settling herself beside her husband.

"You might want to look at this," she started, setting down an old cigar box at the center of the table. "These are some of the things we found with her."

Tsubaki, who sat the closest, tentatively raised the lid. Her gasp acted as a trigger for everyone to gather around the tiny treasure chest that had been placed in front of them.

Inside were several small items that to anyone else would have meant absolutely nothing. A pair of skull hair-ties, a pair of torn white gloves, a wallet, and a red Spartoi necktie. All of which once belonged to Maka. Liz reached over and picked up the wallet. It was small and light-weight, the kind Maka always had hidden away in one of the inner pockets of her coat. Inside was a photograph of them – Maka, Soul, Black Star, Tsubaki, Kidd, Liz, and Patti – as well as a Shibusen student ID. The name: Maka Albarn.

Tsubaki had a hand over her mouth and tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. Black Star placed a hand on his weapon's back and leaned over to whisper in her ear. She smiled and nodded. Kidd watched as Liz and Patti each share a look, mirrored happiness shining in their eyes.

This was more than the confirmation they'd needed.

Kidd finally addressed the middle-aged couple before them.

"How did you find her?"

Sra. Velasquez answered, her face pensive but blithesome, "We found her washed up on shore when we went on vacation to the seaside. We thought she was dead at first, covered in blood the way she was and half drowned no less."

She reached over to grasp her husband's hand, tears welling in her eyes and her voice catching. He continued for her, his hazel eyes flashing. His voice was rough and thick with a Spanish accent.

"We're doctors. When we saw her, we rushed over. I found her pulse, though it was weak. After realizing she was alive, we rushed her to the nearest clinic for treatment. The village we stayed in didn't have a hospital. She'd suffered massive head trauma to the back of her skull along with severe internal bleeding and several broken bones. By the end of the day, she had slipped into a coma." He gave a sad huff at the memory. "…We didn't expect her to last the night."

Tsubaki shuddered while Black Star pulled her tight to his chest.

"Rosa refused to leave her side the entire night."

Rosanna spoke up.

"I prayed the whole night next to her. I kept telling God that he couldn't take away such a young life." Her eyes shimmered in the dim lighting. "I kept thinking, someone so young couldn't die alone, so I stayed with her."

"Come morning, she was still alive in spite of everything," continued Escobar. "We were amazed – even more so when her injuries started to heal at a substantial rate over the next few days, but still she did not wake."

"How long did she stay in a coma?" asked Liz.

"It was almost a month," answered Escobar. "My wife and I stayed at the clinic overseeing her treatment. We almost gave up hope after he wounds had completely healed, yet still she hadn't woken. We guessed the damage to her brain had been too much."

Rosanna looked up with a smile.

"But then she woke up... It was on the last day we were going to stay there, and she just woke up." She swallowed her tears, continuing. "She was very weak, but we spoke to her on that first day. She couldn't remember where she was from or even her own name. We ran a CAT-scan on her head. Damage to the Hippocampus had caused an immense amount of memory-loss."

Kidd's brows furrowed while Black Star's eyes narrowed at Escobar's next sentence.

"We didn't quite know what to do."

"So you took her in? You knew who she was, you knew where she was from, so why didn't you contact anyone?"

Kidd reached over to grip the now enraged meister's bicep.

"Calm down, Black Star."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Kidd. We thought Maka was dead for two years! Look at everything we've been through. Look at everything _Soul's_ been through! All because these two decided to take advantage of our injured teammate!"

"We didn't take advantage of her!" shouted Rosanna. Black Star's eyes shot directly to her, seething in anger and potentially bloodlust. "We just didn't know what to do."

She leaned heavily on her husband.

"We'd always wanted a child. A son or daughter to call our own, but never could. Something would always go wrong… When we found Maristela-"

"Her name is Maka."

She winced. Black Star's voice nothing more than a deadly growl filled to brim with killing intent.

"Maka… When we found Maka, when we realized her memory was gone, we saw it as a miracle. A blessing from the heavens. Even though she was already a young woman, we took her in, named her, and made her our own. What more would you have us do?"

"You took her away from us." Patti's voice was steely, full of ice and a biting edge.

Tear-filled eyes turned to the young weapon.

"I know, and I'm sorry. She's only been with us for two years, but she's made our lives so full of life and love. I don't know if I can give that up."

Escobar's hazel eyes were burning with challenge, daring them to try and break the happiness this couple had carefully built in the last two years. He dared them to take away the woman who had indeed become like a daughter to him in such a short amount of time.

Liz, Black Star, Kidd, and Patti all looked like they were about to get up and answer the challenge, but something stopped them. Something subtle and quiet, but louder than a gunshot in a measure of impact.

Tsubaki's hand had reached across the expanse of the table to find a resting place over Rosanna's. Deep blue eyes met chocolate brown, and she spoke in a quiet, fortified voice.

"I understand. We understand…" she gestured to her friends at her side. "We don't want to give her up either."

Rosanna pulled her hand away, a small gasp falling from her lips as light as a snowflake. Awestruck by the young woman in front of her as she smiled in acceptance and understanding.

Kidd studied the older woman as she stared, almost lost, at Tsubaki, but then a twinge to his awareness drew his attention out of the kitchen. Liz and Patti, so attuned to their meister's wavelength, noticed the shift in his attention instantaneously.

"What is it, Kidd?"

He looked at the doctors across the table.

"Sr. and Sra. Velasquez, I am very sorry, but we will have to continue this another time. Black Star…"

"Yeah?"

"I've sensed a kishin."

* * *

><p>In the heart of downtown Mexico City, the kishin Kidd had sensed was on the prowl. In the light of the setting sun, blood stained claws glinted against the dark concrete of a building rooftop. Beady black eyes were open and shifting from side to side looking for a target. Not many people were still out and about by this time of the day. Since the kidnapping that had started happening, local government issued a curfew for all citizens to follow.<p>

Slim pickings for a hungry kishin, but there was always a straggler to be found trying to hurry to the safety of their home.

"Ahhhh, here we go," the kishin growled licking its chops.

Here came down the street a nice little blonde. She was thin – thankfully he ate souls not flesh – with ash blonde hair drawn back in twin braids. She was cute with wide green eyes and a healthy tan. Peering closer, the kishin noticed something even more intriguing. Something so enticing, it made him crave the taste of this girl all the more.

"A grigori soul. I've never had one of those before."

And as the laughing moon rose into the sky, blood would paint the streets.

TBC

Please, please, please… Review!

a) In the manga, it is revealed that Maka has a grigori type soul. This is a very rare soul type, appearing in 1 in every 50 million people. It is identifiable by the wing-like extensions.

b) Translation – "Ah, good evening, ma'am. But can you speak English?"

c) Translation – "We have guests!"


	5. Leech Jar

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or Emilie Autumn.

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the fabulous reviews on the last chapter. They really inspired me on this chapter. There are two whole sections in here that weren't originally there, but reading through your reviews really got my muse going, and it just came out.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Remember Me

Leech Jar

Mari was walking home from the hospital. She didn't usually take shifts this late, preferring to be home well before sundown, but she had filled the shift as a favor for a friend of hers. Now she was regretting the decision. Curse the goodness of her heart.

What had she been thinking?

It was late. The moon was already halfway up the arc of the sky. She was tired and dirty from work, she was alone past curfew, and she wanted nothing more than to get home and jump into a nice, relaxing shower. But if that wasn't a bad enough craving to make her hurry along, the tingling sensation at the back of her mind was on steroids.

Now she couldn't shake the undeniable sensation of eyes boring into the back of her head. She could just damn her sixth sense to hell and back for the paranoia it put her through on a daily basis. Ceaseless nights of catching glimmers of blue outside her bedroom window, always knowing where her parents were in the house. There were some days where people would try and walk up behind to scare her but end up the living daylights scared out of them instead when she already knew they were coming. She'd even predicted how many people were standing in a room before she'd even entered. It'd been a bet with a co-worker. Heck if she knew how she'd won. It was like she'd just known the answer.

If this is what they called being psychic, she would gladly return the gift to wherever the hell it came from. This was seriously not normal.

It was worse because she worked in a hospital. A hospital that, even though its purpose was to save lives, had witnessed the deaths of many people. And, yes, she'd seen people die. It was to be expected as a practicing nurse and medical assistant. She had grown almost accustomed to it. It came with the territory, she supposed.

But she would never forget the first time it happened.

He'd only been about eleven years old, an orphan. A leukemia patient in the late stages of the disease, slowly slipping away one day at a time. She'd been delivering his medication and speaking lightly that day. She'd already turned around to go when he'd grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving the room.

"Don't leave me," he'd said, debility and fatigue clouding his eyes. "I don't want to be alone."

Her heart bled at the small plea. She couldn't ignore it.

So, her duties ignored, she'd stayed. She sat with him, holding his hand until the end. At least he hadn't been alone, she thought. The heart monitor ceased its rhythmic chimes in favor of a long fermata. She hadn't called for a crash cart or resuscitation; she simply reached over and silenced the death music. A quick glance at his chart that said NR, no resuscitation, cementing her actions. He'd been ready to die, so she let him go.

What happened next, however, would keep her awake for weeks on end.

A soft, blue glow began to emit from the body, and out rose, from the center of the body just over the heart, a perfectly cylindrical sphere. It was small, a little frayed around the edges, but it shined with the intensity of the sun in the dimly lit room. The tiny thing floated over the boy's body for a moment before it shifted its way over to Maristela. She'd stood widen eyed and paralyzed in her place. A compulsion filled her to extend her hand.

The tiny ball of light settled into her hand, snuggling into the warmth of her body heat. She wasn't afraid per say. It felt, somehow, peaceful. Movement, like a quick intake of breath, generated from the little orb. A fluttering sensation graced her palm, like a murmuring of lips against skin, and the fragile little thing was rising up and away from her toward and eventually through the ceiling. She could have sworn she heard the words 'thank you.'

Mari shakes herself out of the memory.

Ever since then, the same or similar has happened every time she's witnessed someone die. Which brought her back to the hyperactive sixth sense she seemed to have and the paranoia at being watched that was making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. At least initially, she only thought she was being watched, but after a scraping noise sounded behind her, she knew she was being followed.

The noisy clatter of chains on pavement hovered at the edge of her hearing like a shadow at the edge of a fog.

Her pace hastened.

Louder and louder, the sharp shrieking of metal grew closer and closer. She stopped, pushing her panic aside, and turned.

"What do you want?"

Whatever it was cackled. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides; viridian eyes widened as her follower, a disgusting, chained monster, stepped into the dim lighting of a street light. Humanoid in appearance, the beast stands on two legs but is hunched over, its long arms hanging limply at its sides. A long corded neck supports a horribly twisted head crowned in messy, dead grey hair. Two thick chains crossed over its shoulders and back and trail the ground behind its booted feet. It swiped a fat, purple tongue across its maw, putting on display rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth.

'_Kishin…'_ a voice whispered in the back of her mind.

"I'm hungry," it growled. "Will you let me have a taste?"

And it lunged for her.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Kidd? Hurry up and tell me where this stupid thing is!"<p>

"Gee, I don't know, Black Star. Why don't you use your soul perception to find it? Oh, wait, I'm sorry. You don't HAVE any!"

Liz, held tightly in Kidd's hand as he flew over on his skateboard her sister gripped in the opposite hand, sighed eyeballing her nails. She wondered when the two would decide to shut up. Tsubaki, in her smaller blade form, was looking forward but her eyes angled up and away from the bickering pair, trying to ignore her meister and teammate.

"Tch! Like I need crap like that to find myself a kishin."

"Then stop asking me and find the damn thing yourself."

"Will you two shut up?" shouted Liz in her mechanical weapon voice. "The sooner the both of you find this thing, the sooner we can get back to what's important and the sooner we can get back home."

Kidd exhaled loudly through his nose.

"Agreed."

Then he came to a sudden stop. Without missing a beat, his right arm, the one holding Patti, elegantly extended from his body, and he braced himself for impact. Liz started the countdown.

"3…2…1…."

WHAM!

Black Star meet concrete. Concrete meet Black Star.

The assassin, obviously not paying any attention to where he was going, ran head/neck first into Kidd's forearm knocking him straight to the ground. You could hear Patti's laughter a mile away. So that's what happens with an unstoppable force meets and immoveable object…

"What the Hell! I'm going to kick your fucking ass, shinigami bastard!"

"Shhh… I found our kishin. He's hunting."

"So let's go get it."

"There's just one problem," Kidd says, turning his head to look squarely at Black Star. The blue-haired male raises an eyebrow at his comrade. "He's trailing Maka."

Aquamarine eyes widen, and suddenly Black Star was gone, racing over the rooftops. Kidd on the other stood in a bit of a stunned silence.

"Kidd! What the hell are you waiting for?"

Patti's scream kick starts the young shinigami-in-training, and Beelzebub is airborne once more following after Black Star.

* * *

><p>Mari screamed, diving out of the way of the monster just as sharp claws slammed into the gravel where she'd just been standing. She landed flat on her stomach, winded. Panicked, she rolled to her feet and took off running.<p>

He chased her.

She weaved left and right, taking sharp turns and jumping over fences trying to escape. He just followed. He was a predator enjoying the chase as he corralled her in and around back ways and alcoves. A classic game of cat and mouse. Oh, how he enjoyed playing with his food. But this was a hungry beast, and she was only about five feet ahead of him at the point when hunger outmatched the play.

He tackled her to the ground, one claw drawing long, shallow slashes along the length of her back. Lacerations decorated her legs courtesy of his other hand. Her messenger bag skids across the pavement. She lashed out with a free arm, digging a solid elbow into his neck. Not hard enough to injure but it gave her enough leeway to squirm out of his grasp.

She stumbles her way into the nearest alleyway, desperate for an exit. The blood drains from her face when she's runs smack into a dead end.

"No…"

She whirls around, violently slapping her hands on the brick behind her as though bracing herself for impact, just as the creature turns the corner, slinking toward her. The pitch of metal scraping pavement is deafening, and her gut clenches in fear. Panic pours from her aura like dark, sticky sap. It oozes into her mouth and nose, thickening her tongue, suffocating her senses. Something pricks at the edge of her soul, something dark and tinged with madness, and suddenly she's surrounded by blackness. An obsidian liquid pools around the edges of her vision. It calls to her willing her to give it reign over her. She pushes it back because she doesn't trust it. Like an old enemy, she pushes it aside bringing herself to reality. 'Cause she's drowning in her fear, and her attacker is soaking it all in like a blood-stained sponge.

"Mmmm, your fear is delicious. Now, let's see what your pain tastes like."

He takes a wide swing at her, his fist coming down like a ton of bricks onto the pavement as she dodges into the corner. A chain whipped out at her nearly taking off her head but she's rolled out of the way only to be kicked in the gut by a pointed boot. A sickening crack is heard, and she knows from the burn in her side that at least one of her ribs was just fractured if not broken. A chain finds its home around her neck, tightening ever so slowly.

Like a dog, he pulls her up into a standing position. His hand wrapped around the chain at her neck, he picks her up like a ragdoll and brings her face close to his. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring. His tongue flicks out like a snake's. The bulbous, slimy appendage leaves a wet trail along her cheek.

"Just as I thought, your pain is delicious."

She cries out, shoving her hands into the monster's twisted face. Though her eyes are screwed shut, she can still see the white light flash before her, and suddenly the monster is halfway across the alley flat on its back. She hasn't the slightest idea what just happened.

"You Bitch!"

She didn't care. She just ran toward the mouth of the alley, toward freedom.

He follows her, diving for her yet again, but this time she's ready.

She twists her upper body around mid-stride and holds her hands out to get a grip on his torn shirt. She got her grip, and using the beast's momentum, flings him up and over her head. Then, like her body was moving on autopilot, she swings her leg out catching him right in the stomach, her shin connecting with skin and muscle and the delicate organs beneath. He lands against the far wall and doesn't get back up.

'_Kishin…'_

The voice was back and seemed to be urging her forward. The burning desire to destroy this monster took over her senses. She doesn't even register her body moving toward the fallen beast until she stands directly over the hulking form.

'_Finish it…'_

That voice…

'_Take the soul…'_

Her eyes widen, taking in the grotesque features. She lurches backward landing on her already tender backside. Common sense fighting against her subconscious. Some instinctive part of her wanted to kill the monster, but her mind couldn't process that action. She wanted, no needed to get out of there. She wants to go home! She gets up ready to flee.

She starts to run, but something swipes her legs out from under her.

She lands in a heap on the gravel. The creature was instantly above her, holding her down, pressing her weeping injuries into the dirt. Her wrists are clasped tightly in clawed hands. His breath is foul, like rotting meat has gotten stuck between his teeth, and his thigh has forced its way between her legs, hiking up her skirt. She gasps in surprise and pain when the appendage sears her core. And suddenly she's no longer in the present.

_He's holding her down on a bed. Her arms are above her head and losing blood flow from the strength of his grip. His knee shoved forcefully between her trembling thighs, he presses his face to hers and screams at her._

'_I said I'd play with you in 10 years, right…? I changed my mind! I'm gonna make you scream right now!'_

_She hears a chainsaw in the background. _(1)

What was that? Some kind of flashback…

"I'm going to have so much fun with you."

The beast grinds into her, one arm raised with dagger-like fingertips poised to stab.

She closes her eyes, burying her face in the crook of her shoulder, waiting for the blow that will end her life.

"Yaaaahoooooo!"

But it never lands.

Instead the creature has flown across the street, and now a boy about her age is standing over her. Loose black leather pants, black wife-beater shirt, a white belt, and black, white and blue wrappings decorating his forearms. Black and white sneakers move soundlessly over the pavement. Top it off with spiked up blue hair, and she recognized him as the young man, Black Star, she'd met in the marketplace earlier today. He looked formidable standing tall with a short blade in his right hand. She vaguely registers the sound of gunshots firing nearby, and all she sees is a flash of red and purple light, and suddenly the monster is gone, only a glowing half-shelled, red orb in its place.

"Black Star, how is she?"

She watches as the blade in his hand shifts in a flash of yellow light into a tall brunette, her hair tied up in a high ponytail. A black cat suit of sorts fits snug to her torso, the straps in a camisole style over her shoulders while around her stomach the fabric is only a thin strip down the center. It's just enough to hide her belly button, exposing her sides. Black leggings hide the skin of her thighs all the way past her knee where they tuck into a pair of comfortable, flat boots. Over the suit is a loose, silk crop top hangs off of her shoulders modestly covering her chest in a light blue. Her skirt reaches the floor as two wide strips of fabric in the same blue with splashes of white at the front and back. A black sash wraps around her hips keeping everything tucked in place. She realizes that she saw this girl earlier in the market too, and she's too awestruck to notice that the blue-haired boy is walking toward her now until his hands land on her shoulders.

"Are you hurt?" he asks already scanning his eyes over her.

"I think I have a few cracked ribs, but besides that I think I'm fine."

"Can you stand?"

She nodded quietly, and suddenly his hands are around her shoulder pushing her up into a sitting position. The strain on her ribcage forced a whimper out of her throat, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. The adrenaline still burning through her system has dulled pain to a tender throb, but she knows the wound will flair with pain later once the endorphins have evacuated her bloodstream. Somehow, though, she thinks she'd suffered a lot worse than this in the past. The girl, who Mari notes is Asian, places her own arms around the small of her back, providing a little more support, and finally she's on her feet. Albeit a little unsteady but on her feet no less.

Black Star was calling over to the boy named Death the Kidd, who she'd spoken to in the market. Beside him are two other girls. One, the taller one, has long light brown hair while the other has shorter lighter blonde hair. When Mari looked over, she noticed the smaller girl slurping down the little red ball. The guys were yelling back and forth. Something about who had a right to the soul and ways to get a person home.

Which reminded her, she needed to get home. She should've been home more than an hour ago. Mother and Father would be worried.

"My name is Tsubaki," the girl beside her suddenly says calling her attention.

"Mari," she replied.

"Mari…" repeated Tsubaki thoughtfully. Mari could read the sadness in her eyes, deep blue like water and far too familiar. Even though she'd just met her she felt like she could trust this woman. Déjà vu tinged at her awareness.

"I'm glad you're alright, Mari."

She found herself enveloped in a warm embrace. She holds still for several seconds, unsure what to do with herself. But then something clicks into place, and she finds her arms reaching up to wrap around this weapon. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and suddenly she's crying for the first time since she can remember.

She doesn't even know why.

"Thank you, Tsubaki."

"We've missed you." The words are soft and so hesitant, Mari isn't completely sure that she even heard them.

She has so many questions. She is confused and utterly unable to understand. Why is she crying? What is this warmth in her chest? It makes her whole body tingle. This woman feels like something close to home, somehow. The tears don't stop.

"I feel like I should know you," she whispers against Tsubaki's scarf.

The weapon pulls away slightly, blue eyes swimming with happiness and unshed tears. A wrapped hand brushes off the moisture from her face and eyes. The smile on the brunette's face a vision she knows she's seen before, but the memory just won't come to surface.

"You do know me, Mari."

For some reason her name rolling off that tongue sounded wrong. Like it should be another name. It was like her name didn't sound correct anymore.

"I'll help you remember."

"Oi, Tsubaki!" Black Star's call drew the weapon's attention. "Bring her over here. We gotta take her home."

And so, having reclaimed her composure and messenger bag, she found herself riding shotgun on Black Star's back, the ninja careful not to jar her injuries anymore than necessary. She didn't know if it was the aftereffect of the adrenaline dissipating from her system or the steady lull of the rocking sensation of Black Star jumping from roof to roof, but she slowly but surely found her eyes fluttering closed with sleep.

* * *

><p>"Man, did we <em>have <em>to bring her back here?"

Black Star was not happy. Not in the least. Maka, who'd completely passed out on the way here, was currently nestled in his arms. He could swear the girl didn't eat enough. She was too damn light. It had been like swinging around a rope when he'd shuffled her into his arms. She looked fine, by the way. No pain, no wincing. She was just sleeping. Which was good, but there's still blood lazily pulsing out of the cuts on her leg and it's coating his arm. The damn things needed to be looked at ASAP. Death knew what kind of bacteria could have been hiding under that kishin's nails. But nooooo. Instead of going to the hotel like _he'd_ wanted, they were currently standing in front of Casa Velasquez, waiting for someone to open the fucking door.

"Black Star," says Kidd in warning. "I know you don't like these people, but we can find ourselves in a lot of trouble if we don't adhere to the fact that they are her current guardians."

"I don't see why we don't just get on a plane and ship off back to Death City now. She's out like a freakin' light. I doubt she'll be waking up anytime soon."

"Ohhh," sneered the shinigami. "What a brilliant idea! And I guess you'll be there tomorrow to answer all her questions. Such as: where she is, and why she's been apparently kidnapped by a bunch of strangers she met only yesterday who claim to know _everything_ about her. Yes, Black Star, you're plan is godly, and we should always listen to you."

Black Star couldn't help it. He smirked, cocking his head to side.

"Well I'm glad you finally acknowledge that fact."

"Black Star-!"

"Fine, fine, fine. Don't get your patties in a bunch." Kidd narrowed his eyes at that jibe. "Why do you always have to be so fucking logical?" he grumbled under his breath just as the front door swung open.

It was Escobar.

Immediately seeing his 'daughter,' the man went into panic mode.

"What's happened? Give her to me!" he yelled reaching for Maka.

"Like hell I will, Old Man. Move!" he commanded all but shoving his way past Sr. Velasquez and into the house. Sra. Velasquez was nearby, standing on tenterhooks at the commotion. The second she saw Maka, the woman slipped into hysterics.

"Oh my god. Mari!"

She started running toward them, but a sharp glare from Black Star stopped her cold in her tracks.

"Don't even think about it," he growled. "Where is her room?"

"Upstairs, second door on the right," Rosa answered obediently.

"Tsubaki…"

"Right." And the chain scythe scurried in behind her meister muttering excuse me's all the way to the stairs. However, when Sra. Velasquez tried to follow, the gentle weapon uncharacteristically blocked her path.

"I'm sorry but… Please, let us take care of our own."

You could have stabbed a knife straight through Rosanna's chest for all the difference in expression she would have made.

And with a short bow, Tsubaki was heading up the stairs after Black Star.

Sr. and Sra. Velasquez were completely silent the aftermath of hurricane Black Star. Who wouldn't be? Mix Black Star's 'never say die' attitude with the over protectiveness he had for his teammates' wellbeing with a first time encounter. Such an occurrence could leave anyone feeling breathless, light-headed, and more than a little insignificant.

Kidd however was quite used to it.

"Patti, Liz. Why don't you two take Beelzebub and head back to the hotel? I will meet you back there shortly."

The two shared a suspicious look before looking back at him.

"You sure, Kidd?" asked Liz, while Patti only huffed in accordance to her sister's question.

"Yes, just let me settle things here."

Liz sighs, watching as Patti tucks the offered skateboard under her arm, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

"Just don't yell at _me_ when it comes back scratched."

"Hehehe, of course not. I know better by now."

"Yay, come on sis!"

Patti started to drag her sister out the door until the elder demon gun transformed into her weapon form, landing safely in Patti's outstretched hand.

"Just don't try to do any crazy tricks."

"Ah but sis that's half the fun…"

Kidd watches after his girls for a moment, a soft look in his eye. Patti's chattering on about 360s and half pikes while Liz's voice seems to be steadily rising in anxiety and apprehension. He'll have to make it up to her once he got back to the hotel.

"What happened to her?"

Rosanna's soft voice is enough to break his train of thought. Both doctors look to Kidd still standing on the threshold. He closes his eyes.

Proceed with damage control.

He finally turns around to face the two distraught doctors – well, one of them is distraught. Escobar just looks pissed off. It was going to be a long night.

"Would you care to sit down?"

* * *

><p>They are seated around the living room. The couple sits on the sofa while he resides in the nearby armchair to the left of the couch.<p>

Kidd has informed them of the kishin. He's explained why Maka was injured and what had occurred on the streets of downtown Mexico City. They took the information in stride. Constantly asking questions. Facial expressions shifting from terror to wonderment and back. It wasn't 'til he finished that they allowed themselves a sigh of relief that the ordeal had passed without tragedy. To them it must have seemed like crisis averted, and now they could go back to their lives. He, however, was here to force them to understand that this most certainly was not the case.

"Maka's injuries aren't life threatening. Knowing her she'll be up and at 'em in no time."

"Thank heavens."

Sra. Velasquez slumped down in her seat with a huff. The woman looked exhausted from the stress. Sr. Velasquez stood up and extended a hand for Death the Kidd to shake.

"Thank you for saving her."

The shinigami waved him away.

"Don't thank me. It's part of my job." He trailed off looking Escobar dead in the eye. "It's also part of Maka's."

The pair is quiet as he watches them. Rosanna eyes are shifty, glancing here and there, taking in everything but his face and the seriousness in his eyes. Escobar takes back his seat, staring warily as the boy before him commands his attention. Barely a man yet this meister dressed in black exercises such dominion over them he can't possibly defy the order.

"You need to understand," Kidd continues icily. "This _will_ happen again."

"Are you threatening-"

"Maka is not just a Shibusen student. She is a three-star meister and one of the DWMA's finest. Her title, Angel of Death, was earned by her achievements. It's symbolic of her soul and its unique abilities. Not only is she a fundamental part of Shibusen but her skills and talents have put her on the kill list of a lot of the evil that lives in this world."

"Maka must return to Shibusen," he continued. Escobar's eyes narrowed. "She needs to relearn how to be a meister. She cannot stay here with you. It would mean the end of her."

"What are you trying to say, boy?"

"He's saying that if it weren't for us tonight, Maka would be dead. Her soul swallowed whole by an inconsequential foe that would otherwise have never beaten her."

Black Star's voice is straight-edge and hard. He stands at the foot of the stairs leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Rosanna covers her gasp with a shaking hand. Escobar's flinch is so violent Kidd is mildly surprised the man didn't give himself whiplash. The shinigami in question studies his comrade over the fisted knuckles he rests in front of his nose and mouth.

"How is she?"

The ninja shrugs.

"She's got a few cracked ribs and some nasty cuts down her back and thighs. Tsubaki's patching her up now."

"What do you think?"

Black Star shifts his head from side to side like he's rolling statistics over in his mind.

"Knowing Maka, I'd say she'll be back on her feet by tomorrow night at the latest."

"I thought as much. She and Soul never did like staying in bed to recover."

"You got that right. Stubborn idiots…"

Rosa's voice is awe-filled when she speaks.

"You really have known her for a long time…" It's an observation made out of honesty.

"We've known Maka for years. Black Star even longer than the rest of us," explains Kidd.

"Yeah, Maka and I practically grew up together. She's like a little sister to me, which is why I refuse to leave her here alone."

"Black Star, you can't seriously-"

"Tsubaki and I will be spending the night here. Just in case anything happens. Besides I don't trust these two any further than I can throw them."

And knowing Black Star that was probably pretty far…

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

Escobar has stood from his position on the couch.

"The name's Black Star. Got it memorized?"

"You think you can come into my house and do whatever the hell you want, you brat."

"Try and stop me, old man."

"Why you!"

Rosa reached out, grapping onto the sleeve of her husband's shirt.

"Escobar, dejalo."

"Rosa!"

"Ellos tienen todo el derecho a no confiar en nosotros. Siéntate y cálmate. Tenemos que corregir este."(2)

"Pero, Rosa."

"Sit down!"

The man slumped into his seat.

"I'm sorry," Rosa started, addressing Kidd and Black Star. "We made a horrible mistake, and it's time we fixed it."

Kidd nodded his head while Black Star just stared at her.

"Go on."

"We'll tell Mari everything tomorrow when she wakes up. It's time she learned the truth." She hesitated then continued. "But I will not let you just take her away from us."

Black Star's eyes flashed, bloodlust rising from controlled depths.

"It will be her decision and hers alone. If she decides she wants to leave with you, then we will let her go. If she doesn't, then she stays. That's that."

Black Star's fists are clenched at his sides, but Kidd appreciates the insane amount of restraint he's displaying in dealing with this difficult, arrogant, admirable woman. He almost wanted to ask them how exactly they planned to prevent them from taking Maka anywhere, but in the end, Kidd knew the best way for Maka to return to Death City would be her willing it. That was the reason they'd brought her back to the Velasquez household in the first place.

Maka would hear the truth, and she would in turn make her decision. Then they could go from there depending on what that was.

"You will tell her _everything_?"

"Yes. How we found her, who she is, who you are, even why we decided to keep her here."

"Very well." The shinigami nodded his acceptance of the proposal. It was time he headed back to the hotel. The girls were no doubt waiting for him. He quietly spiked his wavelength calling Beelzebub to him.

"Black Star…" sounded a quiet voice from the stairwell.

The man in question turned his head as a lithe hand snaked its way over his shoulder.

"Tsubaki…" he said gliding a gentle hand over his weapon's face swiping hair out of her eyes. An intimate gesture that's significance was not lost to Kidd. It was a clear sign of how taxing this situation had become on Black Star's carefully maintained sanity. The ever lingering curse of the demon was stirring in the haze of anger, sorrow, and guilt.

"Black Star, will you be okay here?"

"Don't be stupid," he said eyes never straying from Tsubaki. "Guy as big as me is always okay."

Kidd blinked slowly, nodding his head as a distinctive thud sounded against the front door. Ah, that would be his skateboard.

"I'll leave it to you then. Sr. and Sra. Velasquez, I bid you adieu."

* * *

><p>An hour or so later found Black Star and Tsubaki sitting idly in the Velasquez's living room. Kidd had gone back to the hotel for the night. Black Star and Tsubaki would be staying the night just as he'd informed Sr. Velasquez, much to the older man's distain. He didn't quite trust the older couple with Maka. The woman in question was dead to the world in the upstairs bedroom.<p>

He could only imagine why.

Between being scared nearly out of her mind, fighting for her life, and firing off a soul wavelength like that could make anyone pass out. Not to mention the meds Escobar had made her swallow not too long ago could keep her knocked out well into tomorrow.

Maka, despite lack of training and practice in the last two years, had been able to beat back a kishin long enough for them to reach her. She'd fired off a wavelength, nothing compared to what he could put out, but a pretty powerful one nonetheless. At least it'd been strong enough to tickle Black Star's fickle perception. Granted, she'd probably done it subconsciously, but her soul had called out to them, directing them to her position with a clarity they hadn't felt since the last time they'd all resonated together.

It assured him that the Maka Albarn he'd grown up with was still in there somewhere just waiting to be pulled back out. Heh, he'd already started going over the training regiment he would be putting her through once they returned to Death City. And she _would_ be returning with them. You can bet of his honor.

He'd beat down a thousand kishin before failing in that mission. Hell, he'd drag her back by the hair if he had to. But somehow he didn't think it would come to that. Something in the way his weapon/ girlfriend held herself, quietly sipping from the tea cup kindly offered her by Rosa. She seemed content, the happiness flowing from her to him in gentle waves through their link.

He thinks it might have something to do with the interaction she'd had earlier with Maka.

"Tsubaki," he called across the room.

She looks at him with small smile on her lips. It's just the two of them right now. The house is quiet, the couple Velasquez having gone to sleep not too long ago. It was early, only around 10 o'clock, but he guessed older people needed more sleep. The only light on in the room was a lamp standing at the corner of the room.

The shadow tool seemed to slither closer to her meister, setting her beverage down and moving to sit next to him on the sofa. Well muscled arms slithered around her waist and pulled her in closer to him. She's all peace and hope through their link as she rests her head on his chest. She feels like a calm ocean, and he instinctively adjusts his wavelength to sway to the rhythm of her waves.

She doesn't use words to convey her emotions. She doesn't need to.

"You're happy," he teases softly.

"Mhmm. Aren't you?"

"Can't say I'm not. It was quite fun knocking some sense into those two kooks."

"Black Star."

"What? It's not like I actually hit them. Though I wouldn't mind slapping them around a bit."

"They're going to tell Maka the truth tomorrow, right?

"Yeah, Kidd made them to cave. We'll find out then whether Maka wants to come back or not."

She sighed, soft but content.

"Huh?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I spoke to Maka a little after we defeated the kishin."

"And?" he asked, a hand coming up to tangle in her long black hair.

"I don't think we have too much to worry about."

"You think she'll come home?"

Her brow furrowed in thought.

"I think so… It's hard to tell at this point. She's confused, and too much pushing may be counterproductive."

"Hn, Maka does tend to lash out whenever she's backed into a corner."

Tsubaki giggled. She pushed herself up slightly and navigated her way into Black Star's lap. He adjusts his posture slightly, draping his legs over the cushions of the sofa and leaning back so she could lay against his chest.

"I don't know, Black Star. All I know is what I feel, and it feels like her soul wants to remember."

Black Star looked thoughtfully at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

"I don't know about all this feeling stuff. All I know is how to fight, and I think if Maka can remember that much, she can remember everything else."

"What do you mean?"

"Maka shot out her soul wavelength before we got there. I felt it hit."

"Hmm… That must mean that Maka's body and soul remember how to be a meister. It's just her mind that's forgotten."

"Mhmm. So it should be easier to recover her memory."

"We'll just have to see."

His eyes slid back away from the clock. It was early yet. But there was nothing to do.

Well, nothing innocent to do.

"Hey," he husked out tightening his arms around her waist. "We should probably go to bed," he says, his lips skimming over the exposed skin of her shoulder.

His hands skimmed over the folds of her clothes to find their resting place on her thighs. She slaps his hands away.

"Black Star!" she growled standing up. "This isn't our home."

She shuffled over to the other side of the couch toward the stairs while he leapt over the back of the furniture to catch her around the waist.

"Aw, come on, Baki- Oof!"

She bonked him on top of the head.

"I don't think so. I'm going to bed," she finished making her way up the stairs to the guest room they'd been shown before, Black Star following closely behind.

"I bet Kidd's got his hands full back at the hotel with the Thompsons," he grumbled.

"Somehow, I don't think Kidd would initiate something like that at a time like this." She opened the door to the room and made her way over to the bed sitting on the side she claimed as hers and proceeding to untie her hair and arms braces. Meanwhile, he stood in the doorway for several seconds, one arm crossed over his chest while the other holds his chin, before entering the room and crawling onto the opposite side of the bed from his weapon.

"Yeah. I think you're right."

Tsubaki sighed. Crisis averted, she thinks, until an ungloved hand begins a slow path upward from the base of her spine.

"But knowing those sisters, they've probably got him bound and gagged by now."

Thwack

The ninja was out cold before his head even hit the pillow.

With a small laugh, Tsubaki went about her nightly ritual after tucking him in bed properly. Wouldn't want him to wake up sore from sleeping wrong.

TBC

More Notes: So the Black Star and Tsubaki section was pretty hard for me to write. I did a bit of research on the pair, and I really tried to capture their dynamic and turn it into something that would work when they were older and in a serious relationship.

No Soul in this chapter, but never fret. We will see him again soon.

Please tell me what you thought about it.

Please review.

1 )Taken from chapter 75 of the manga. Go read if you don't know what I'm talking about.

2) Translation - "They have every right not to trust us. Sit down and calm down. We need fix this."


	6. Blue Regret

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater or the piano piece by Gackt that inspired part of this section.

Author's Note: I love you all so much! Thank you for the wonderful reviews. Real quick funny story. So I've been having one of my friends read through each chapter before I post, and I just kind of assumed she would be proofreading. But she isn't… . So anyway, I've been reading through them a little more closely, so you all don't get as many errors.

Sorry about that.

P.S. If you really want to get the feel for the first section of this chapter look up the songs. It's Blue, a piano solo by Gackt, and Regret, another solo by Gackt. They are just so beautiful, and Regret sets the mood perfectly for this chapter's start.

Remember Me

Blue Regret

Dawn touches the horizon with the gentle touch of a mother to her babe. It's commonplace and recurring, an everyday event. The laughing sun subdued for the moment. The warm glow of morning light falls over the greenery of the lot, chasing away the mists of the moonshine and welcoming the day. The twittering of birds causes his ears to twitch, the jumbling of notes chaotic to a seasoned musician's ear. He mind seeks to arrange the disarray, organizing the music into carefully formatted measures of chords and motives.

But, alas, the music escapes him.

Vermilion absorb the surrounding scenery, the calamity pressing on him from all sides. The manicured lawn, the well-tended flower arrangements, the gray headstones… The last time he'd been here had been for the extra-curricular lesson they'd had to take as kids for not retrieving any kishin souls. When Sid-sensei had nearly smashed a tombstone over his head. Yay, for obnoxious zombie pair-professionals.

Course that means he hadn't gone to the funeral. Between being forcefully strapped down to a gurney in the dispensary and medicated so he wouldn't lose control of himself, he hadn't been able to. But that was just an excuse, really. He hadn't wanted to be in attendance anyway. It goes against his grain.

Why would he want to watch an empty casket be lowered into the ground?

It wasn't cool, he knew, but he just hadn't had the strength or will to force himself through that particular trial. And in the two years that followed, he'd refused to even set foot in the graveyard.

_Denial_

The word supplied by none other than the little ogre at the back of his mind.

And maybe the little parasite is right. Maybe he had been in denial. Maybe he doesn't want to face his failure face to face. Maybe he just doesn't like graveyards. Hell, most sane people try to avoid them at whatever cost.

Yet, here he is. No, he hasn't brought a bouquet of flowers or any other type of silly offering. Maka would have just scoffed at them anyway, had she been there. Maybe he should have brought a book, now that he thinks about it. One of Maka's simple pleasures. Perhaps another time.

But for now it's just him.

Sitting in the damp grass, his shoulder resting against the marker, his fingers idly trace the engraved name: **Maka Albarn, 3-Star Meister, Beloved daughter and friend.**

With a sigh, his hand drops limply to his side, his entire body sagging against the cold, hard stone. He closes his eyes and relaxes his head along the edge. He reaches into the depths of his soul for the gear that once upon a time to connect directly with Maka's. In a gesture he hasn't performed since that day, he tips the scale ever so slightly, adjusting his soul to the familiar frequency that once matched up directly with his meister's in soul resonance. He remembers it to this day. The pattern as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

And a breath later, he's inside his soul room. He ignores little ogre, pointedly making his way to the grand piano resting behind a burgundy curtain. His fingers twitch, almost in anticipation to what he's about to do, as he sits at the dusty instrument. It's been a while since he's played and Little Ogre must have given up on him ever doing so again. But it's tuned, the string held taunt and ready to be struck. The cover is lifted, and the music plays.

It's a haunting melody, the notes glissade off an invisible page into space and time with a flick of his fingers. The keys clicking and clanking under his expert orchestration. Heavy bass seeps forth into stillness and the melody thickens. Words fall from his lips like a harmony into the open air.

"Are you listening, Maka?"

The melody continues. He can almost feel her soul again, a ghostly touch on the outskirts of his awareness. All that's missing from this scene is her hand resting on his shoulder. Her petit form should have been standing beside him, clothed in black silk and satin.

"I can feel you. You're still here, aren't you?" he asks the open air, not expecting an answer. But he's not disheartened because the setting is alive with his lullaby. "You know I woke up to the strangest sensation last night. My side and back hurt. It was like one of those times when you were injured yet I could feel the pain."

He smiles.

"Sympathy pain? Was that what you called it? I don't know it always felt like something a little bit more than that to me. Like a wound on your body became a wound on my soul. I used to bug me all the time, especially when you were PMSing for the week."

He chuckled lightly, his right hand executing a series of octave jumps across the keyboard.

"But I'm getting off topic. You see I felt this phantom pain last night. Just this odd tenderness in my ribcage. I don't know, maybe it was the way I slept, but I thought of you. Funny how easy it is for me to associate you with pain, and yeah, you can Maka-chop me for that whenever you get the chance."

He quiets for a moment. The wind ruffling through his hair is steady as a breath and the trees rustle as the earth exhales. Birdsong mixing with his music, his soul singing along with theirs. Sights and sounds are sharper in this reality were his soul gesticulates on its lonesome. The sun is almost luminescent in the sky, and the chiming of the piano is metallic in flavor.

The piece is winding down now. Steadily falling to its conclusion.

"I miss you, Maka."

The progression of chords in his left hand reaches its peak while his right scurries along in a mirade of notes. A leading tone, desperate to find it's resounding finish on the key of G, is left unfulfilled. The hanging F sharp descending into the surrounding darkness and madness of the Black Room. The ever present shadows lurking in his very soul, threatening to consume him his every waking moment, soak up the lost sound with a gluttonous hunger.

Every day was a struggle to keep the madness at bay, insanity an ever enticing escape from reality that he could never admit defeat to. The black blood hisses at him from the edges of his vision. He can feel it stirring. His cacophony of emotions has raised the demon, and the only person able to force it back with a mere flex of will is gone, nowhere to be found.

Returning to himself, he eyes the empty grave before him.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold on without you."

He shakes his head as if shaking the black blood loose, forcing it back into its slumber and stands up, one hand resting atop the dusty stone.

"I've gotta go, Maka. I start my training under Lord Death today." He laughs to himself. "Yeah, the Head Skull himself is gonna start using me. Looks like your dream came true, after all, eh."

He pats away the loose grains from the top of the stone with the gentleness of touching a lover.

"I'll see you soon, Maka."

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Soul picks out his path along the green mile leaving the dead to their peace.

* * *

><p>Ash blonde lashes fluttered open to greet the waiting morning creeping into her bedroom through a gap in the curtains. She raises a bandaged hand to her eyes, rubbing the leftover sleep out of them. They feel droopy, probably from the medicine, she thinks as she tries to force away the lull of slumber her body is more than willing to embrace.<p>

What an odd dream she'd had just now.

It was all a jumble of sensation. A mix of sound, touch, and she could swear the taste of grief had lingering into her waking. Music, tinged in sorrow, harmonized by words dipped in anguish echo through her very soul. It was beautiful, invading her senses like not only could she hear the music but she felt it. It altered its flow, a shift of a gear or a pull of a switch and suddenly white noise vibrated throughout her body.

If you ask her what it was, she wouldn't know what to tell. All she knows was that the frequency was familiar, like the hands of an old paramour. She thinks she should be been able to identify it without a second thought, like the color of her eyes or the location of her bellybutton. It was so cognizant, so right. So very intimate the way it seemed to weave through her quivering soul. Or maybe it originated from there? She wasn't sure.

She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

A stranger approaches her, introduces herself to her, and she can't manage to generate any other emotion other than an overwhelming happiness. The relief floods her heart so quickly and so violently that the raging storm manifested in tears and shuddering sobs before she even understands the emotions. Yet this foreign body, this Tsubaki, only holds her, shushing her… telling her it would be alright. Some instinct inside her trusted that girl more than words can express. Trust given in such a way that no amount of science or logic can justify it.

And then there are all her dreams. Or rather "dreams." The dreams aren't abstract. She has not envisioned this. These aren't moments out of a fairy tale or storybook. Any daydreams she wills herself to have pale in comparison to these night visions. This most recent one: her white-haired stranger sitting in the grass, whispering into thin air, his soul (if that's what it was) singing to the melody of a piano. It's strange because somehow, subconsciously, she knows that it wasn't a dream at all this time. His words… She could hear them this time.

_I don't know how long I can hold on without you._

She shook her head.

Why is she trying to rationalize something that isn't real?

Come on, Mari. Get a grip.

It was just a dream.

A deep breath, interrupted by a sharp pain in her chest, draws her attention south to the bandages wrapped snuggly around her torso. Shifting slightly, the pressure dissolves into something a bit more manageable, a distinct soreness along her ribcage.

She really did a number on herself.

Dull emeralds hide behind sand-toned lids as she tries for another deep breath with a little more success. The resulting sigh is followed by a tired yawn but no pain. It's a small victory, but she's happy about it nonetheless. That is, of course, until she notices an urge her body simply cannot ignore for fear of mass amounts of embarassment. Nature was calling, and the bathroom is more than a menacing ten feet away. Feeling daring, she attempts to sit up.

"Oh, no, no, no. Mijita, you shouldn't be moving around."

"Hay, Mami, it's fine."

"I think not. Lay back down this instant."

"But I need to go to the bathroom," she admits sheepishly.

Her mother almost chuckles under her breath, not so much at Mari, but at her own overbearing. She sets the tray in her hands down on the bedside table before looking back at her daughter with a soft smile on her face.

"Come on," she says.

It's a rough and tumble journey there and back, but adequately relieved, Mari finds herself back in bed about ten minutes later tucking into a light breakfast of grapefruit, yogurt, and toast at the older woman's insistence. But something seems off about her mother.

She is nervous, almost jittery as she putters around the room and finicks with various bobs and babbles on the vanity. Something is on her mind, but she's too afraid to voice her thoughts. Mari is about halfway done with her breakfast, and still the woman refuses to say anything, so the blonde broaches the subject herself.

"¿Mami, qué paso?"

The beautiful brunette starts with a jolt, a hand flying to the cross hanging from her neck. Her hip sounds a dull boom against the dresser, her free hand bracing herself against the wood.

"Nothing, mija. Nothing's wrong."

"Then what are you so nervous about?"

She gasps, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. She reaches a hand out, moving forward and taking Mari's in her own. Her palm is hot and sweaty, shaking with stress and anxiety. But still she does not speak. She only looks at her daughter with the most heart-wrenching expression you ever did see on a mother. But it's not her voice that graces the stillness.

"Your mother and I have something we need to speak with you about."

It scares Mari the way her father's voice is nothing if not calm indignation.

"Padre…"

He enters the room like a man condemned, a small cigar box held tight in his shaking hands.

"It's time you learned the truth."

She frowns deeply in confusion.

"What truth?"

And so they tell her. They tell her everything. How they found her. How she nearly died. About her amnesia and how they knew who she really was all this time. Why they took her in. Why they did everything the way they did, damning the consequences to hell. And why they are telling her all of this now.

"This box is full of the things you had when we found you," says her mother as she shakily hands her the stuffy, old cigar box. Sra. Velasquez is crying. Soft, controlled sobs dripping with shame and fear. She whimpers pitifully as Escobar presses her to leave the room. The blonde watches with quiet scrutiny, unmoving until Sr. Velasquez places a hand on her shoulder. She shift her gaze to his blankly.

"They want to take you back, Mari. But that decision is yours alone, whether you leave with them or stay here. Your mother and I love you, and we'll support whatever you decide."

He plants a chaste kiss atop her crown and walks to the door. She has to consciously suppress a cringe. One hand on the doorknob, he says one last thing to her.

"Make sure you take your medicine, Mari. It'll help you sleep." And he's gone, the muted clicking of a shut door the only remnant of his presence.

She hadn't said a word the whole time as they told their story. Now, her eyes are shut tight, and her fists clench desperately in the bed covers. She needs something stable, something to hold onto. Her mind is racing a mile a minute, screaming at them, at her, at everyone, and she's afraid she'll unwind if she lets go of the linens.

_Liars… _a small voice inside her screams in the darkness of her thoughts. It's angry and spiteful. The voice wants to run downstairs declaring to the moon and stars how she was tricked and fooled into believing she was someone else. It wants retribution for her suffering, but most of all it wants to be freed from the prison it now sees as Mexico.

But her heart isn't following it… Not yet at least. These are the two people she called mother and father for almost two years. She's learned to love them. But now she knows they aren't who they said they were, and she hasn't a clue what comes next. Does she reject everything she knows in favor of reclaiming a past she knows next to nothing about? Or does she forsake the future she should have had to stay in a place that holds hardy any relevance to her?

'What am I supposed to do?' she asks herself, an ID and a photograph enclosed in a death-grip before her. And she can read it. Her name… Her real name: Maka Albarn. It rings a bell. A faint chime in the recesses of her soul and a hushed ding in the back of her mind. She's read this name before. She knows she has. She's done research on this person. Why can't she remember what she'd been reading when she'd stumbled across her own name? …when she'd stumbled across her history.

Then it clicks, and she's up. Her hands dig through her tattered messenger bag, looking, searching for a library book that just so happens to be due today. Ah, found it: the history book on Shibusen's establishment. She flips through the pages one, five, ten, twenty at a time until she comes to the chapter titled simply Spartoi.

There she was the first name on the page listing the members alphabetically.

**Albarn, Maka**

** Gender: Female**

** Age: 15**

**Classification: Two Star Meister**

**Weapon: Soul Eater**

**Teammates: Death the Kidd and Black Star**

**Alias: Angel of Death**

That's her. She looks from the picture in her hand. She can name three of the people in the image. Well, four including herself. Death the Kidd, Black Star, and Tsubaki are easy enough to identify. It's the other three who she doesn't know. The two girls she saw earlier must be Death the Kidd's weapon pair. A quick reference later and she can name them as Elizabeth and Patricia Thompson. Though which one was which, she couldn't tell. And that left the last person. A guy with white hair and red eyes. Her dream lover.

She looks back at the book in her lap. Her weapon partner maybe? Her vision travels to another name.

**Eater, Soul**

**Gender: Male**

**Age: 16**

**Classification: Death Scythe**

**Meister: Maka Albarn**

**Weapon Type: Demon Scythe**

**Alias: Soul Evans, Death's Musician**

With a sigh, she closes the book with a sharp snap. Both her hands come up to vigorously rub through her hair as she lets out an exasperated breath of air. She can feel the small picture crumpling in her hand, so she jerks her hands away from her head, green eyes wide with near panic as a gasp escapes her lips.

She stares at the image in her hands.

Seven teenagers stand soaked in varying degrees of water and paint all smiling at the camera. You would never have guess that these teens are a group of trained killers and their tools of destruction. They just look like a group of friends taking a day for fun and relaxation. The scene is just so normal.

Her fingertips venture back and forth over the image. It's a strange mix of her senses as she traces the teens' faces because at certain points on the photo, it isn't clear plastic she feels under her touch. Phantom sensations scurry beneath her fingertips. Feelings of skin, hair, even clothes tingle under her nerves. It's a 'not there' feeling. Like her fingers remember the texture of Liz's hair or the coarseness of Black Star's shorts so it manifests the sensations without conscious approval. She traces Soul's face the longest with her forefinger soaking in the spectral heat that must have been his skin.

A drop of water darkens a corner of the photo.

She hadn't even realized she was crying and had been so for a while if the dampness of the sheets over her lap was any indication. So involved was she in her thoughts that the tender aching of her heart hadn't caught her attention, but she understands what it means. She knows these people. Deep down, she does. And she wants to remember them.

"What do I do?" she asks laying her head in her hands. She eyes the small pill on her nightstand and the glass of water beside it. Maybe she needs to sleep on it.

So she gets herself comfortable, drinks down the pill, and closes her eyes to the world and its troubles. The photograph held tightly in her hand underneath her head.

* * *

><p><em>"Maka, Look Out!" yells Patti from her right.<em>

_Splat!_

_ She lets out a high pitched squeal of mixed delight and disgust as the glob of blue paint coats her left shoulder._

_ "Black Star, you're gonna pay for that!"_

_ The assassin sticks his tongue out at her, giving her the stink eye before running away at full throttle. He's not fast enough though._

_ She takes aim, cocking her hand as far back is it will go, and throws._

_ The tiny ball of green paint lands a direct hit on the back of his head sending him tumbling forward into a shallow puddle of water. Celebratory high fives are exchanged between Maka, Tsubaki, and Patti. _

_ Paint ball had probably been the best idea any of them had ever had._

_ In a change of pace from their usual Saturday afternoon Basketball games and a desperate need to escape the heat of the Nevada desert, the group had decided to venture to a nearby water/amusement park and play a messy, but oh so satisfying, game of paintball. So here they were, boys vs. girls: Black Star, Soul, and Kidd against Maka, Tsubaki, and Patti (Liz refused to play for the sake of her hair). The older gun, instead, acting as referee from her spot on a lifeguard post but mostly just catching some sun._

_In fact according to Liz's count, the girls were winning._

_The three are covered in varying degrees of paint and water, the swimsuits they wear hardly recognizable with the gaudy amounts of luminescent color staining them. Maka is the best off, only sporting a yellow splash around her hip and the now blue mass that is her shoulder. Patti's blonde hair has rivulets of black dripping through it as it mixes with the water from one of Kidd's attacks, and her chest and stomach are a mess of blues and reds. Tsubaki , in much the same condition but in shades of yellow, green, and orange, even has two bright red, vaguely hand-shaped splashes of color on each cheek from when Black Star tackled with every intention of finger painting. _

_Water splish-splashed everywhere as they ran through and around the waterworks, the floor a squishy spongy material under their feet. They stick mostly to the dry areas, not wanting to slip all over the place. Besides, it isn't wise to stand still long enough to wash any paint off. The guys would catch them and proceed to __**redecorate**__, if you know what I mean. Though, from the looks of things, the guys aren't doing much better. In fact, they're doing quite a bit worse._

_ Black Star's entire back is a mess of purple, green, and orange paint. Kidd's shirt, which was originally white, is now some strange tie-dye of lime green, red, and pink. Soul is the only one whose torso hasn't been completely assaulted by color, but he has some pops of color around his arms, legs, and neck._

_ The girls, still immersed in the little celebration, are rudely interrupted by the loud, unison yell of three masculine voices._

_ "Get Them!"_

_ And they scatter, multi-colored paint balls flying everywhere._

_ Patti and Tsubaki high-tail it one way, while Maka dives in the complete opposite direction. Hadn't been the best idea, 'cause now she has both Kidd __**and**__ Black Star on her tail. But, oh, is she giving her fellow meisters a run for their money. She's dodging back and forth between the stacked blocks and fake machinery that serve as little hidey-holes for players, twisting and turning her way through various pathways in a constant loop too keep their aim from being straight on._

_ An orange ball hits home on her right calf with a splash, and she whirls around, pulling two balls from the pouch at her side, and throws them at the two boys following her. Black Star dodges, but Death the Kidd finds a nice, new, shiny blue splatter on his left arm._

_ "Maka, Help!" a cry from Patti pierces across the expanse._

_A jump to her left brings her current teammates into her line of sight, so she can see what's going on. This is not good. Soul has cornered Tsubaki and Patti, and he looks like he is ready to pelt them with enough paint to supply an entire art show …or at least enough to win the game._

_Oh, no you don't._

"_I'm coming, Patti," she yells pulling a purple ball from her pack aiming straight for Soul._

"_Oh no, you're not!" shouts Black Star from not far behind her, and he throws another ball at her at the same time she throws one at Soul. She jumps out of the way of the ninja's projectile just in time, and both shots hit Soul square in back._

"_Black Star, you idiot-"_

"_Gotcha!" she cries tackling her death scythe to the ground. They roll screaming, laughing, and sputtering until they land with a grunt (courtesy of Soul) in a swallow pool with him pinned underneath her, the fountain at the center raining down on them. She sits up, her legs on either side of his waist, holding him down with her hands, a smile on her face._

"_Pinned ya!" she laughs. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Tsubaki and Patti getting ready for the ultimate face off against their meisters. She finds herself a little too preoccupied to turn her full attention to them ,however, as Soul has a ball in hand, aiming to smash it on her chest._

_She intercepts it, crushing his hand in hers and lacing their fingers together. The small balloon bursts in their hands, coating their fingers in purple. She can't stop the giggles that bubble up at the look on his face._

"_Ehh, Darn you!" he playfully growls at her, winding his free arm around her waist and pushes to flip their positions. He rips his hand out of her grasp, tossing the busted plastic away from them before settling himself back over her. His hand comes back down roughly on her face. Mimicking Black Star's finger painting on Tsubaki, he traces a smear of purple down her cheek and neck as he bends down and kisses her._

_She slowly lets herself fall into the kiss, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck, her paint coated hand painting a trail from the small of his back to his neck. He pulls away with a hum, leaning back down to plant a pop kiss or two on her cheeks, then returning to her mouth with every intention of exploring deeper into their previous make out endeavor. That's when a little idea pops into Maka's ever calculating head._

_Her hand slips down from around his neck. A single trail of purple drawn from the hollow of his collarbone down his chest and stomach, sliding over the palest of scars, as her hand makes its way to the pouch at her side._

"_STOP IT! I'M NOT PLAYING!"_

_The shriek has them both looking up in astonishment to their friends. Apparently the game is over as their teammates are now raining a whirlwind of color on a red-faced and unsuspecting Liz. The demon gun is running in circles, frantically trying to avoid the onslaught with her arms waving in an obscene amount of energy - trying to protect her hair, no doubt. That is until her sister tackles her to the ground and assaults her with what must have been five or six fully loaded balloons right to the top of her head._

"_PATTI!"_

_Maka covers her mouth with her free hand trying to repress the laughter while Soul just cracks up above her. Eventually he calms himself down, fully disinterested in the drama occurring just across the ways from them, and apparently, more interested in her._

"_So where were we?" _

_His breath is hot against her cheek. She can't suppress the blush. He's just so undeniably enticing like this._

_She turns to him leaning in closer and closer as she speaks._

"_Oooh, I think we were right about…" Her lips are just barely brushing against his, her eyelashes fluttering sensually at him. The hand that was just in her carrying pouch rising slowly behind his head. "Here!"_

_Wham!_

_Down comes her hand full of paint balloon._

"_Ahhh!" he yells as red paint drips onto his face reaching for his own bag. But she is up and running away as fast as her long legs can carry her to the safety of the group._

"_You little __**minx!**__" he shouts throwing the ball directly at her as he gives chase._

_She squeals and jumps as it hits the small of her back._

_He's throwing another ball at her as she ducks behind Black Star. The assassin swings around to investigate the sudden appearance of the smaller meister. The ball hits __**him**__ in the right in the butt and he whoops leaving the ground in surprise. That might have stung a little. _

"_Soul, knock it off!" he yells turning to look at his best friend._

"_Move outta the way!"_

_He's huffing and puffing, too busy trying to catch his breath, so he doesn't realize right away that everyone is staring at him._

"_What?" he asks, puzzlement in his voice._

_Liz answers, a hand covering her mouth so she won't laugh._

"_You look good as a redhead, Soul."_

_Everybody laughs._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Maka <strong>_wakes up with a jolt.

She is not quite sure what's disturbed her. And she's more than a little sad about being woken from one of the most wonderful dreams she's ever had. Eyes open and awareness kicking in, she takes stock of herself and the room. Her bandages have been changed, and the blanket has been pulled up around her shoulders to keep her warm. Judging from the waning sunlight peeking in through her curtains, it was probably around seven o'clock. Almost sunset. A glance in the other direction reveals she has a guest.

"Tsubaki…"

The quiet brunette is seated to her left in a lounge chair. She looks up upon hearing Maka's voice.

"Mari, you're awake."

The blonde smiles softly at the weapon. She notices that Tsubaki has her book in hand and has been palming through it slowly. Looking at her, Maka vaguely realizes that there are raised voices rising up from the living room.

Must have been what woke her up.

"What's going on?"

"You've been asleep all day," she answers with a smile. "I take it you know everything now?"

She nods her head, setting her hands down on either side of her so she can sit up. Seeing her moving, Tsubaki jumps out of her chair.

"Mari, you shouldn't be moving around like that."

She frowns a little. Tsubaki thinks it's because she's just been scolded, but it really isn't.

"I feel fine, Tsubaki. What's going on downstairs?"

"Oh, Black Star and Patti are in a bit of a disagreement with Sr. Velasquez."

"About what?"

She winces a little before answering.

"About how you're either staying or going."

"Mmm," Maka looks appropriately contemplative of that information. "It's still my decision, right?"

"Oh, of course."

Maka tilts her head to the side looking at the brunette. The weapon is a bit confused by the stare. She recognizes that look. She's seen it a hand-full of times. It is the look Maka used to get whenever she was about to make a rash decision that almost always ended up making something or other blow up while still concluding with the end result exactly as what everyone else wanted. The blonde woman smirks at the perplexed look on her face. Tsubaki has no idea what has just hit her because without warning or announcement Maka's hand is throwing the blankets off of her body, and she's already making her way to the door when Tsubaki intercepts her.

"Mari, stop you'll hurt yourself!" she shouts placing a careful hand on the injured meister's shoulder to stop her advancement.

"I'm fine, Tsubaki!" she laughs. The thin woman puts her own hands on Tsubaki's shoulders, leaning forward with the biggest smile she's ever worn. Sidestepping, she flits past the taller female and vanishes out the door.

Tsubaki is ready to panic. Please, somebody tell her she did not just screw everything up! Oh no, what did she say? What did she say?

"Oh, and Tsubaki…"

The airy call is all that keeps Tsubaki from flipping on the panic switch as Maka's head pokes back around the doorway.

"Yes, Mari?"

"Call me Maka."

Tsubaki is speechless. She gapes at Maka with pure shock painting her expression.

Maka just smiles…

And she's off again, flying down the stairs toward the voices holding a shouting match in her living room. She acknowledges the quick footsteps behind her trying to keep pace and looks back to find a smiling Tsubaki on her tail. She doesn't stop until she's reached to foot of the stairs.

At this point, she can hear the voices clearly.

Her father, no, Escobar is yelling at someone.

* * *

><p>"I have already told you, she will not be leaving this house unless that is what she wants to do. And you, boy, will respect whatever decision she makes."<p>

"Oh, don't worry. I have more than enough respect for Maka." Black Star evidently. "It's _you_ I'm worried about. I'll sneak her out of her myself if you so much as breathe the wrong way after she's made her decision."

"You arrogant, cretin. What makes you think she'll want to come with you in the first place?"

"It doesn't matter because I'll be sure to convince her come with us if it's the last thing I do."

"Black Star, calm down! We don't know anything yet. And once we hear Maka's choice, I will need to inform my father. Only then can we get the go ahead to do anything other than return to Death City. And if you so much as-"

"So when do we leave?" a small voice asks from the direction of the stairs.

All heads turn.

There stood Maka, still in the pair of pajamas she slept in throughout the day with Tsubaki hovering behind her should she lose her balance on the stairs.

"Mari, sweetie. Tu no debes moverse," says Rosa getting up to fuss over the recovering young woman.

"Estoy bien, mama. Apenas puedo sentir mis lesiones mas."

Kidd smiles. He didn't know Spanish, but it was easy to tell what the woman was making such a fuss over.

"That's the healing ability of a meister, Sra. Velasquez. We heal faster than normal people. And to answer your question, we can leave as soon as you're ready to travel."

The blonde nods.

"I think I can be ready to go by tomorrow morning."

It's almost as if everyone is holding their breath. Escobar stands and approaches Maka, Rosa, and Tsubaki.

"Mari-"

"Maka," she corrects. "My name is Maka."

"Maka," he continues hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

She smiles at them stepping forward, her hands outstretched toward their shaking ones. She takes their hands, one in each of her own and cradles them to her chest.

"I want to thank both of you for everything. You saved my life, took care of me. You treated me like your own, and for that I'm grateful." She pauses looking at each of them in turn. "No llores, mama."

Maka gives only a small wince when the woman envelopes her in a tight embrace. She returns the hug careful not to aggravate her healing injuries.

"You don't have to leave, hija. You don't have to…"

Maka pulls away from the woman and gives her a small, beautiful smile.

"But I do, mama. I have to go back. I need to remember who I was."

Rosa nods, tears still rolling down her face, but she steps back into her husband's arms, placing her head on his shoulder.

"We understand," says Escobar. He puts his hand on Maka's head petting her hair down lightly before backing away. "You need to be with your own."

She smiles, nodding her head. She turns around, looking into the living room to find the people she's dreamed of in the flesh sitting before her. She can recall their names perfectly now. Death the Kidd is studying her silently. He's as still as a breath as if he fears any sudden movements might make her change her mind about returning with them. Liz is next to him on the loveseat trying in vain to mask just how much the touching scene before her is affecting her. Patti sits on an arm of the seat, her eyes lit up with spotlights and glitter in her pleasure. Black Star is as usual standing solo across the room from them, arms crossed. He doesn't smile but there's a distinctly victorious gleam in his eye. And finally her eyes sweep to Tsubaki, who is still behind her, hope shining in her eyes.

But there's still one person missing.

She knows his name only because she's read it in a book, but she knows who he is. White hair, red eyes, and a feral smile. Her phantom lover.

She looks over all of them as she speaks.

"I may not remember much, but…" She trails off. Her eyes drift off to gaze into the fading sunlight. "I feel like there's someone waiting for me."

Everyone thinks it at the same time. The word: nothing more than a sigh on the wind.

Soul…

TBC

Please Review!


	7. Landing

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or Moby.

Second Disclaimer/ Author's Note: Oh damn. I so did not realize this. Someone brought to my attention that this story is similar to a work of Christopher Pike's that even goes by the same name. I swear by all that is holy, this was completely unintentional. In fact, I've never read, nor even heard of that book or much else by Pike. (I think the only thing I've ever read from him was The Cold One) But just to be on the safe side, I do not own any of Christopher Pike's storylines, plots, and/or novels. However, I did make this up on my own. My sincere apologies to anyone who might of thought otherwise, but I mean, in this day and age, there's only so much one person can write without unintentionally sharing ideas with someone else. Once again, the mimicry was unintentional, however this stories plot, is entirely my own.

Hopefully later chapters won't remind you so much of Pike, ehh…

Well, I'm getting off my soapbox now.

Enjoy, Chapter Seven.

Remember Me

Landing

Maka had never been on a plane before. At least that she could remember.

The acute taste of two parts excitement mixed with a third anxiety is palpable on her already shambled nerves. They arrive at the airport around 8 in the morning. She's half asleep on her feet, nursing a cup of orange juice just taking in her surroundings. The others aren't anymore wakeful than she is. Liz is drinking her own mocha frappuccino while Tsubaki is sparingly sipping a warm green tea. Black Star and Patti are dozing curled up on the waiting chairs. The only one who appears even remotely lucid is Death the Kidd, as he's taking long sips from his black coffee and frantically flipping through the leftover paperwork that would be allowing Maka passage to America.

There aren't a lot of people here, but the chaotic feel of the airport is still very much a comfort to her. Watching the lazy hustle and bustle of the District Federal's International Airport reminds her of the hospital. Everyone set in their task despite the time of day, getting their duties accomplished. It's recognizable, and it eases her slowly crackling nerves ever so slightly as they move toward their destination.

An hour later after walking through all the luggage checks, security scans, a quick breakfast, and a few heartfelt goodbyes, she finds herself seated on one of Shibusen's private jets, courtesy of Shinigami-sama, flying over the hills and plateaus of beautiful scenic Mexico.

Feeling her ears pop upon take off hadn't been the most pleasant experience of her life, but she's strangely content. No tears at been exchanged when she'd hugged Escobar and Rosanna; she just hadn't felt the need to, and the older couple almost glowed with suppressed pride at seeing the young woman off. They think her brave and daring to reclaim a life she's all but lost to time and misfortune. Rosa wished her well, leaving an open invitation for her come and visit anytime.

Now, she sits at the window seat across from the pair of demon guns. The two are wearing complimentary outfits consisting of green halters and blue jeans, though Patti wears shorts while Liz pants. Matching black vests buttoned at the front are styled differently with various pins and stitching. Not to mention Liz's variety of accessories are quite lavish when compared to Patti's simple three gem necklace. The two are chattering away on asking questions, testing her Spanish, and dreamily recounting stories of their adventures together. She listens, providing insight when asked a question and even delivering a few of her own inquiries.

It all seems so surreal.

Two days ago, she thought she knew who she was, where she was from, and what she would be doing for the rest of her life. Today, she goes by a different name, is riding a plane with people who claim to have known her forever, and on her way to a home she can barely remember. But then, she wonders if Mexico was ever really her home. Rosa and Escobar had treated her well, that was for sure. But had it really been home? She doesn't have very much in the duffle bag she's brought with her, just some changes of clothes, the contents of the old cigar box, her personal toiletries, and a few books she bought recently. It isn't for lack of things to bring, mind you (Rosa would have spoiled her rotten if she'd let her). But a lot of what she'd received from the Velasquezes just hadn't felt like her own.

Was it a coincidence or had her gut instinct had been trying to tell her the truth for a long time?

"Hey, Maka!"

She snaps her head to the side. She'd been so immersed in her own thoughts she hadn't noticed Patti and Liz had left their seats some time ago. The others, minus Black Star (he's snoozed out over an entire row of seats), are all sitting around a low table toward the front of the cabin.

"Huh?"

"Wanna play some poker with us?" asks Liz. "We're betting on peanuts and crackers."

She thinks on it for a moment, chewing it over in her mind, wondering if they're asking her out of courtesy or if they really do want her to play. Green eyes look from one smiling hopeful face to the next, and now, she feels silly, batting down her doubts. Her answer is one she really shouldn't have needed to think twice about.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, back in Death City, completely unaware of the happenings in Mexico or the preparations being made for the arrival of a certain meister, Soul is laying in the grass of the Academy's training fields. It's just past 1 in the afternoon. The heat of the day having just peaked, he has rid himself of his jacket, using it instead as a pillow. He's just lying still, resting, soaking up the sun and letting his mind wander.<p>

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if, maybe, he's been doing way too much thinking lately. Maka used to always tell him he didn't do enough of it, but there just had to be a limit on how much pensive time a person could have in a day.

If there is, he knows he's reached it, yet his mind is on overdrive.

Yesterday had been the first day of his training with Lord Death. The majority of it was spent adjusting wavelengths so they wouldn't end up doing more harm than good to each other. But once that had been accomplished they'd brushed up on some simple maneuvers to get a feel for how the other moved in combat. Basics, really. A lot of it was nothing more than muscle memory. Hardly anything to break a sweat over. And definitely nothing to stress about. Yet still, he'd gone home exhausted.

He'd been complete mess, sweaty, grasping for some semblance of composure, nerves shot through the roof. And what was worse, Lord Death had noticed. Needless to say, the reaper had been concerned. Soul should not have been _that_ exhausted, his wavelength nothing more than a tattered shadow of what he'd started with. It was ridiculous, and stupidly enough, it was all mental. The problem rooted in his soul.

Damn, that parasite. If it weren't for the black blood, it wouldn't have been nearly as draining as it had been. He hadn't expected the training to inspire it to rear its ugly head after all this time. Suppressing it had been taxing on his mind and body. Good thing he couldn't get anymore gray hairs. Hell, the play on his emotions alone was probably enough to drive anyone else to madness. Talk about an exercise in restraint.

It makes him remember how easy resonance had been with Maka. She was all fluid and soft curves. He used to be able to just float in the healing waters of her wavelength for ages whenever he needed a reprieve from the outside world or even his own dark soul room. She would get mad at him for never saying it aloud, but she really had been his angel in every way, shape, and form.

But she's gone. She can't protect him anymore.

He hasn't been handled by a meister in over two years. The established connection is foreign, alien, to him, and now being Lord Death's tool…

Everything about it is just so off.

In all his life, Soul has never been touched by Lord Death, especially not in weapon form. It's something he's always been anal about. No one has ever handled Soul, except for, of course, Maka. That honor had always been saved for her alone. It was her right and responsibility. Course, there was that one mishap with Black Star, but we try to forget that. Don't even ask about soul resonance – you'll get nothing but a glare that could melt the skin off a rattlesnake.

But now he's Death's weapon, and the feeling is just wrong.

It's not uncomfortable per say, but his hands are too big. The grip too tight, his palms too cold. Soul feels awkward in his hold. Death's hands are simply too weather-beaten and aged. He's been around for so long that those same hands have probably wielded at least a hundred other scythes, treating each one exactly the same with a mutual respect and expectations of ability and obedience. And he wants, no yearns so badly for those monstrous appendages to morph into smaller, more delicate hands. He wants them to be warmer, softer. He longs for the steady stabilizing pulse of an anti-demon wavelength to wash over him, sweeping away any and all traces of delirium from his mind and body. But they're nothing but empty wishes.

The wavelength is different from what he was accustomed to. He doesn't know what he expected Death to feel like but the reaper is nothing if not raw power. His soul is the touch of death itself. It's wispy like a mist, the power. You can reach out to try and grab it, but it will only dissipate in your grasp. Yet it's tangible. Real as a shiver or a breath. But he dare not sink into its open arms.

He doesn't trust himself to maintain control.

"LOOK OUT!"

He's startled into a sitting position as something black and white whizzes by mere millimeters away from his head.

What the fuck was that?

"Sorry about th- oh Soul, hey man! Care to join us?"

It's Kilik, wearing nothing but jersey shorts and a few armbands. Join us for what?

His head swivels around looking for the source of near his concussion. A soccer ball? It's tangled in the underbrush of a nearby tree. He slowly stands as the African male jogs over and shuffles the ball out of the foliage with his foot then stands over it with the victory of an accomplished 'futball' player.

"Us?" asks Soul.

"Yeah, us," the larger male laughs at him as a shirtless Ox runs up just a bit out of breath.

"Kilik, what's the hold up? Oh, Soul, hey. We didn't know you were out here."

"I didn't know you guys were out here either. What are you doing?" he asks rising to his feet and dusting off his pants.

"Just playing some soccer. You should join."

"Um, I-"

"Hey Ox, what do you say Soul joins your team?"

"I don't see why not," he said pushing his glasses up his nose. "Kim and Jackie aren't coming today, and the twins always play on the same team."

"Awesome, well Soul what do you say?"

Soul checks his watch, barely restraining a frustrated growl. Eh, he has quite a bit of time before he has to report back to Lord Death. Why not?

"Sure, what's game?"

"First team to 10 wins."

So they played a few rounds. Soccer definitely wasn't his favorite sport in the world, but playing with Harvar, Ox, Kilik, and the twins was pretty fun. By the end of the game, he's stripped off his shirt as well, and worked up a nice sweat. The boys, not quite ready to part ways decide to hit the showers at the Academy then head to the nearby Deathbucks. They chat it up, calmly drinking their way to the bottom of plastic cups containing deliciously cool frappuccinos and teas to offset the blistering heat of the afternoon.

"So does anybody have any idea what's up with the entire senior faculty?" asks Harvar out of the blue. Soul looks on blankly not really paying attention at this point, but Kilik and Ox jump at the question.

"Hmm?"

"What are you talking about, Var?"

"You haven't noticed."

"No," Ox deadpans. "Care to explain?"

"Stein, Marie, Sid, Nygus, even Kim and Jackie have all been running around today like their heads have been cut off. I heard Nygus say something about needing to prepare a bed in the infirmary before Kidd and Black Star got back, and Stein keeps going on and on about running tests and medical examination and weird scientific theorem. I think I even heard him muttering to himself. Something about tropical warm water currents. I didn't even know he was into oceanography."

Kilik sported a contemplative look on his face.

"You know, now that you mention it, people have been acting strange around the Academy lately. At least since the other day. You would think someone came back from the dead with the way they were carrying on."

"Maybe someone got hurt on the mission. They were due back two days ago," supplies Ox

"That's what I thought too, but I talked to Jackie about what was going on, and Kim has no idea what the commotion is all about, and she's practically Shibusen's magical cure all. You would think that if someone in Kidd's group was hurt they would have told her?"

"Maybe, but Kim did tell me that Marie asked her to stay near the Academy today on stand by if she was needed."

"Kay, so what does it mean?" asks Kilik, the twins on either side of him looking on expectantly.

Two blank stares glare right back as though saying, 'what do you think.'

"Soul, you're a Death Scythe! Have you heard anything? Maybe scraped off a few stray thoughts from Shinigami-sama."

Soul, who'd been paying only half-attention to the conversation around him, cocks a silver brow at Kilik. What was the question? Oh, yeah…

"No, I haven't heard anything. As far as reading anything off the old skull head, as if that would ever happen. Lord Death is an old pro at blocking information." He takes a long slurp of his tea, draining the drink. Speaking of the old reaper, he glances down at his wrist. Soul's watch reads 3:15. Lord Death would be expecting him soon.

"Well, guys, it's been cool, but I gotta get going."

They throw out their variations of goodbye while he gets up and throws away his trash in a nearby bin. He turns to head out, but there's something pink, white, and smokey heading his way.

"Ox, Kilik, Harvar, you're never going to believe-! Soul?"

Kim's face is bright red (he can't tell if it's from embarrassment or because she ran here) and she holds Jackie in her left hand, the lantern demon in her flying form still puffing out the occasional puff of smoke. Maybe she hadn't run here.

"Hey, Kim."

Okay, he knows he doesn't really know the pink-haired witch as well as he should. He's know her for how many years, yet he can only recall ever having one length conversation with the girl – though that probably doesn't count because it was really her and Maka talking while he was on stand by. Between her aloof, kiss-my-ass-and-die attitude, her financial OCD, and her completely opposite sweetness, he'd known better to leave the hell alone. Don't get him wrong, he likes her just fine and can even get along with her, but he doesn't know her. She'd been Maka's friend more than his, and that'd been fine by him.

This current display, however, is a new one to add to his weird list.

The normally calm, collected, even mildly disinterested Kim is sputtering up a storm before his very eyes. It's like she can't figure out what to say. It sounds like she's trying to spit out a mix of 'how are you' 'what are you doing' and 'what a surprise to see you,' but even his hearing isn't that good. And he really doesn't have the patience to try and analyze her stutters.

"Ooookay, I was actually just leaving. See ya later, Kim."

"Leaving! To where?"

The door is only three feet away. Should he jump it? No, Soul, be polite.

"Back to Shibusen. I meet Lord Death in a half hour."

"Oh, really! I-I-I I just came from the Academy. Come on stay awhile longer. N-No need to be ear-!"

Jackie, now in human form, slaps a hand over her meister's mouth with a loud smack.

"Sorry about that Soul. She's just a little batty from the heat, you know," the brunette hastily inserts fanning a hand at the still flushed and quite flustered Kim.

"Right…"

And people used to tell Maka had been a handful.

Soul is looking at the pinkette like she's suddenly grown a pair of wings and a tail. This woman was something else, indeed. Ox sure has his work cut out for him. "I'll see you guys later," he throws over his shoulder, and he makes his way out of the coffee shop quickly but calmly before anything else blows up on his freak-o-meter.

"Bye, Soul," mutters Jackie as the door closes behind the scythe demon. She releases Kim simultaneously heaving a huge sigh of relief. "Kim! What the hell!"

"I panicked."

"Kidd told us to hold Soul off if we so happened to find him. So much for that, wouldn't you say?"

"I know. I'm sorry!" yells Kim throwing her arms over her head in defeat. She's hunched over herself as though expecting to be hit at any moment by some sort of divine right of the shinigami should he desire retribution for her failure. She doesn't stop her cowering until Ox places a hand on her shoulder.

"Kim?"

She must have leapt at least five feet in the air, and upon landing she stumbles straight into her fiancée's waiting arms. She recollects herself holding onto his shirt sleeve and then stands tall again with a small dazed but content look on her face.

"What's going on?"

"Ox… Sorry about that."

She blinks at him a moment before emerald eyes trace over Kilik, Harvar, and the twins sitting patiently wondering the same question. Her eyes meet Jackie's. The weapon has moved over to sit beside Harvar on the booth. And they share a smile over their boyfriends' shoulders.

Kim's expression becomes a full on smirk as she answers the question.

"You will never believe who Kidd and Black Star brought back from Mexico."

* * *

><p>Okay, this is getting ridiculous.<p>

They'd landed in Death City no more than twenty minutes ago, and already, she is being half dragged, half pushed down the halls of the DWMA. Black Star's doing the pulling while an incessantly giggling Patti does the pushing. It that isn't attracting attention, she doesn't know what is. Right towards the end of the school day for that matter, and the halls are bustling with students. Even though her 'friends' are trying to shield her from the brute of the attention, it still manages to track her down like a heat-seeking missile.

The whispers follow her everywhere.

"Could it be?"

"Is that…"

"No way… She's back..."

Between climbing up Shibusen's ungodly amount front steps and the Death Room, she has been ogled at by at least half the student body, ran headlong into a zombie, been hugged by a mummy of some sort, and…

"Look out, Maka!"

Nearly run over by a pink-haired girl riding a broomstick (or something mildly resembling a lantern with a pole as an extension). She's just about had it, and if it weren't for the man wearing a stitched up lab coat with a screw loose in his head coming out and yelling for all the students to return to their own business, she would have tried to run away as fast as she could.

Course considering the death grip Patti has on her shoulders, that plan isn't coming to fruition whether she wants it to or not. But thankfully she doesn't have to dwell on her escape plans long because they finally manage to make it into the sanctity of the Death Room without further incident. Safe at last, she breathes a sigh of relief as she steps toward the center of the room at Death the Kidd's insistence as the others hang back so she may meet Lord Death face to face.

"Father, we've arrived," says Kidd to get the grim reaper's attention as he is currently peering out of his mirror. The masked man turns around then, his gaze falling instantaneously to Maka, who stands nervously twiddling her thumbs.

It's at this point, she thinks she may have thought 'safe' too soon.

"Maka-chan, you've returned to us! How are you feeling? Are you hurt? Is everything alright?"

His hands are way too big, she decides. Two giant hands have pulled her into a tight hug, and he twirls her around. Then suddenly he pulls her away from him, holding her by the back of the neck, twisting her this way and that while one of those immense hands is patting her down examining the injuries she took just the other day. All she can do is squirm and kick, back and forth, praying for some return to normalcy anytime soon.

"Father!"

"Shinigami-sama!"

"Please, put me down. I think I'm gonna be sick."

All the voices calling out in horror and protest at the reaper-handling seem to inspire the god to exercise common sense. Namely in the fact that you don't shake an injured person around in one hand. Heck, you don't shake an injured person around period.

So he sets her back down with a light pat on the head.

"Ah, yes, yes, yes… Sorry about that. It's just so good to see you again."

She immediately curls over herself, trying in vain to keep her in-flight lunch down. Tsubaki places a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright, Maka?"

She nods, holding out a hand to Tsubaki so she doesn't come too close.

"Yeah, just a little unsteady," she huffs out as she rights herself and turns her attention back to the Lord of Death. She knows what she's supposed to say, she'd even rehearsed it in the plane bathroom. So why is she suddenly suffering from what you might call stage fright? The guy just picked her up like a freaking cat and all but strangled her death. Spit it out already.

"Sh-Shinigami-sama," she starts with a careful bow. "M-Meister Maka Albarn ready to return to duty."

Damn it all, she can't believe she stuttered.

Lord Death, however, conscious of Maka's anxiety, can't help but feel a touch of disappointment. He'd been expecting the girl to at least act in a similar fashion to the, oh so, formidable Maka Albarn, the woman who, along with her weapon partner, defeated Asura. The poor girl before him, though, is missing the characteristic spark that defines one of his best meisters.

Where is the courage? Where is the burn of ambition?

It's his own fault, he supposed. His son had specifically told him that Maka didn't remember anything of her former life. But she's alive, and that's what matters right now. Everything else… Well they would all just have to wait and see.

"Excellent. We're glad to have you back Meister Maka."

"Thank you, sir."

"I heard you were wounded fighting a kishin, eh? Why don't we have Dr. Stein take a look at those before we start you back on duty? Tsubaki, would you take her to the infirmary?"

"Hai, Shinigami-sama."

"Tell Stein to run a full check up on her."

"Yes, sir."

"Maka, I will speak to Kidd and Black Star on your reconditioning, and they will let you know what we've decided. Do you have any questions?"

"Um, just one Lord Death?"

"Yes?"

She's hesitant to ask, unsure if it's even her place to ask such a question, but her soul is kindling with curiosity and something that faintly resembles yearning.

"Where is Soul?"

Shinigami's eyes aren't the only pair in the room to widen. The expression is fleeting on the Death God's face as his eye sockets seem to soften in understanding. Maybe there's a bit of Maka left inside this girl, after all.

"I'm sure you'll be seeing him soon, Maka. Go on now."

She bows once again allowing Tsubaki to pull her back to the door and toward the dispensary.

"Well then," started Shinigami-sama once Maka and Tsubaki had exited the Death Room. Liz and Patti walk over to sit at the edge of the platform while Black Star and Kidd move forward to stand before the Academy's head honcho. "That's a new development?"

Kidd shakes his head slowly.

"I don't think so. None of us have mentioned Soul to her specifically, but yesterday she hinted that someone was waiting for her here. She may have meant Soul."

"Hmm, this is an interesting development. Well, then, let's get down to business shall we. We need to discuss Maka's reintegration as a Shibusen meister. She seems willing enough, but have you spoken to her about it?"

"Yes," answers Kidd. "She has every intention of returning to her duties even though she still cannot remember her past."

"Good, then we should start with basic training for her."

"I'll be in charge of that."

All eyes turn to the speaker with slight wonderment.

"Black Star?"

"Yeah, I mean, who better than a god like me! I've known Maka for a long time. I know her fighting style, and I know how to whip someone back into shape."

"Sounds reasonable enough. What do you say, Kidd?"

Shinigami Jr. gives it a deserving thought, as though weighing the idea on the scales in his head, before conceding.

"I think it'll work. Black Star could easily retrain her on basic maneuvering and fighting techniques, but I think someone else should oversee her weapon training once she's done training under you."

"You sound like you have someone in mind."

Kidd smiles knowingly.

"Who better to train a scythe meister on weapon usage than another scythe meister."

"Professor Stein!" exclaimed Liz and Patti.

"And Soul of course. I'm sure he would jump at the opportunity to work with her again."

Shinigami-sama nodded, the bottommost spike of his mask resting between his thumb and forefinger.

"Speaking of Soul-kun… When are you planning on telling him his meister is in fact alive and now here in Death City? She seems awfully anxious to see him."

Kidd hesitated unsure how his next statement would go over with his friends and father.

"We found Maka barely two days ago, and today is her first day back in Death City. She's bound to be in shock. I think maybe we should wait until she's gotten her bearings back."

"Oh, and when do you think that will be?" snarled Black Star rounding on Kidd. "We've kept this from him long enough! He has a right to know, Kidd!"

"I know that Black Star, but I just don't feel that now is the right time for it. She's-"

"And just when do you think will be the right time?"

Kidd and Black Star whirled around. Soul stood underneath the high arch of a guillotine near the entrance of the room, his aura rippling with anger.

* * *

><p>He is early, he knows. Kim's apparent reluctance that he head to the Death Room right that second sparking more than a mild need for investigation within him. Soul was supposed to go back to the Death Room later anyway for his next round of training with the big man himself when. Who would it hurt if he's just a tad early? Stopping just outside the door, he hears several voices already inside the room. It sounds like Kidd and Black Star are giving their mission report to Shinigami-sama. Maybe that's why Kim wanted him to wait.<p>

Eh, he shrugs it off. He's a death scythe, how many times had Spirit or even Marie stood in on a mission report that had nothing to do with either of them. Seeing no problem entering unannounced, he opens the door and freezes as he hears his name enter the conversation.

"And Soul, of course. I'm sure he would jump at the opportunity to work with her again."

Kidd? What's he talking about? Who's "her"?

"Speaking of Soul-kun…"

Lord Death

"When are you planning on telling him his meister is in fact alive and now here in Death City? She seems awfully anxious to see him."

His heart stops. He can't remember how to breathe.

"We found Maka barely two days ago, and today is her first day back in Death City. She's bound to be in shock."

Kidd again.

"I think maybe we should wait until she's gotten her bearings back."

His eyes narrow, a fist clenching at his side, as he enters the room completely, staying near the back, concealing his presence.

"Oh, and when do you think that will be? We've kept this from him long enough! He has a right to know, Kidd!"

Black Star is yelling, and he's just about had enough of listening to this conversation.

"I know that Black Star, but I just don't feel that now is the right time for it. She's-"

"And just when do you think will be the right time?"

Wide aquamarine and amber eyes whip around to find him. Kidd's soul perception is on the fritz. Soul is broadcasting his anger loud and clear for the young shinigami to read and interpret. The convoluted mass of rage burns brighter and brighter the closer he gets to the pair. He's glaring at Kidd, thoughts of bloody murder wrestling around in his mind. It's not until he's practically breathing in the same air as the reaper in training that he stops any and all forward motion. Said reaper is actually speaking now.

"Soul, listen-!"

"Where is she?" he growls, grip tightening on either side of the reaper's jacket collar. Liz, Patti, and Black Star all move. Maybe it's to pull the enraged death scythe off of the pampered heir. Che, like that's gonna fucking happen. There's too much adrenaline clogging his arteries for them to have much effect of him, but Kidd holds out a hand anyway, silently telling them it's okay, successfully avoiding the test of strength.

"Soul, man. Calm down."

"Shut up, Black Star," hisses Kidd.

"Answer me! Where is Maka?"

A violent shake has Kidd raising his hands to Soul's wrists to steady himself against the mistreatment.

"Look, I know you're angry, but there's something you need to understand-"

"No, what I need to understand is why none you have told me that _my_ meister is alive. Now are you going to tell me exactly where she is, or do I have to beat the information out of you?"

"Death Scythe, that's enough!"

Shit, he'd forgotten about Lord Death.

"Release him." The command is tinged in displeasure, and even though Soul's fingers itch to connect with Kidd's face, he obeys bring his fists to clench at his sides. The freed reaper stumbles backwards none too gracefully into the waiting arms of Liz and Patti. The demon guns are looking at him with a mixture of terror and pity, but he doesn't see it because his eyes are squeezed shut, head down.

The silence of the room is deafening until Soul finds his voice again.

"Shinigami-sama…"

His fingernails have pierced through the skin of his palm. The blood wells and drips lazily to the floor. It's tainted in black. There a thousand things he could be thinking now. Control is at the forefront of his mind, but it takes a backburner to the need he feels in his chest. Because dare he believe it, she's here. Maka is here somewhere. And if they don't tell him where within the next thirty seconds, he's afraid the black blood will swallow him whole with the madness he will let loose on the Academy tearing it down brick by crumbling brick to get to her. But he smiles at the thought, because he can't help but think, even if he does lose control, everything will be fine. Maka's exorcism wavelength would be able to bring him back no matter how far away he's gone.

Little Ogre giggles in the back of his mind. It's like the little bastard knows something he doesn't and is reveling in the fact. He ignores the creature. His anger just beginning to simmer down to a dull ember.

"Please," he chokes out. "Just tell me where she is."

He's begging. Soul never begs.

The ruler of Death heaves a giant sigh. The material surrounding his shoulders drops a couple inches with the release of tension. Soul is under control. At least for the moment. Now is not the time to test the endurance of the weapon's carefully maintained sanity. Best to let him find out for himself. It will hurt him, no doubt, but it's the only way he'll truly comprehend anyway.

"She's in the dispensary."

The four words are out of the headmaster's mouth, and not a second later, Soul is but a blur of motion, heading straight out the door in the direction of his lost and now found meister.

TBC

Please Review!


	8. My Shadow Self

Disclaimer:  I do not own Soul Eater or anything by Mortal Love.

Author's Note: Hey everybody. I just want to say that I am sooooooo sorry this took so long to be posted. I am currently in Boston taking dance class with the Boston Conservatory, and my program goes from about 8 in the morning to 8 at night. Very little writing time between that, but I promise you I will be finishing the story. Now is just a really busy time.

Here's an extra long chapter for you.

Please enjoy.

Remember Me

My Shadow Self

The banging of a door on hard plaster can shatter glass with only the most distinguished use of force. Thankfully Soul does not utilize quite so much force when he stampedes with all the grace of an enraged rhino into the small, once upon a time, quiet setting of the dispensary, but the sound echoes like a gunshot as it reverberates off the shaking glass bottles and medicines lining the shelves. Despite the racket he's making, his ear perks at a small gasp from the direction of the patient beds. He runs.

"Maka!"

Dr. Franken Stein's steely gaze meets him as the doctor half-heartedly turns the screw in his he. The man is standing at the foot of the bed, holding a clipboard. The curtain is drawn at such an angle that he cannot see the person occupying the bed. But Shibusen's top meister doesn't move a muscle; the look on his face as one would look watching a train wreck. Quick, rushed steps carry him to the curtain which he roughly swats aside. Soul doesn't even register the startled but, as of yet, quiet Tsubaki sitting by the medicine cabinet.

Because there she is.

Her hair is pulled back into two braids, and her skin is a little darker than he remembered. But it is her. Familiar forest green eyes are wide with startle, darting around the room like a nervous pair of birds before finally settling on him. Shock and puzzlement decorates her expression as he just looks at her. Then recognition floods into her eyes. And suddenly she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life.

He approaches her slowly, a hand reaching out, fingers itching to touch her, feel the heat of her skin beneath his once again after so long.

His heart clenches when she shifts back and away before he can even take a breath.

"Maka?"

A new emotion touches her eyes. One that reminds him of his failure as a weapon and partner, of all his shortcomings as a lover, of the Black Blood burning in his veins. It's not anger or disappointment or even hatred. Those he could handle from her. He's seen them before, not necessarily aimed at him, but he knows how to deal with those looks at least. But this one… He's never seen _this_ look on her face, and that she would ever give it to him, well that's just impossible. This is an emotion he or anyone else, for that matter, never even associated with his meister.

It's fear.

And his world tilts, everything sliding off the table to shatter into thousands of razor-sharp pieces on the floor. They cut his heart and bleed him dry of hope he dared to hold on to all of this time.

He pulls his hand back like he's been burned. She doesn't trust him anymore. What a fool he must have been! How could she ever trust him again after what happened? He barely acknowledges that Stein is speaking to her, offering an explanation. The professor's larger hand grips his forearm, and he lets himself to be herded out of the room like a dumb piece of cattle.

In that room is a woman who looks and feels like his meister, but all he can sense is the absolute wrongness shrouding over her. Incorrect, damaged, marred, broken, fractured, incomplete, skewed like a mirror that had been warped.

"Soul…"

He's too far gone in his shock to process Stein right now, his thoughts rushing back and forth in his mind like a raging hurricane. Is she afraid of him? No, that can't be. Maka was always fearless. She'd beaten Asura for Shinigami's sake. The woman has looked the threat death and insanity in the face without fear, and without hesitation beaten them back. She couldn't feel fear even if it would save her life. But now she was _afraid_ of him.

"Soul!"

He feels betrayed and useless. His blood even simmers is the beginning of anger. He's always known there was nothing crueler on this wide earth than life, but this... This agony is unbearable. She is right there, sitting cross-legged in a hospital bed alive and within reach, but he can't touch her. She doesn't want him to touch her!

"Soul, snap out of it!"

Slap!

The force of contact between Stein's open palm and his right cheek sends him spiraling to the floor. The doctor's hand fists in his shirt, pulling him back up and shaking him for good measure. Soul growls at the scientist, his hand wrapping around the wrist holding his shirt hostage. Stein releases him.

"Now that I have your attention, I can explain Maka's situation to you."

"What situation?" he snaps. Every possible scenario races through his mind. He can only imagine the unspeakable traumas she may have gone through. Being held hostage, torture, rape, slavery anything could have happened to her in two years. Two years that she has been unable to return to Death City. Two years that she's been labeled dead, and has in essence completely dropped off the face of the earth.

Stein sighs, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Soul's going hysterical again. Now he understands why Maka used to always book him a good one. Another slap comes down on Soul's un-abused cheek. Well Kidd would certainly approve.

"What the fu-!"

"Maka has amnesia."

Crimson eyes widen at the revelation.

"Makes sense now doesn't it…"

Relief floods through him momentarily before candent eyebrows furrow in frustration despite the fact that he now understands. Something still doesn't add up. There had been recognition in her eyes, he knows it. He saw it. He felt it.

"She recognized me, though?"

"She been with Kidd, Black Star and others for a while now, and they've been sharing memories with her. I'm sure she's seen pictures and heard of you. It's also very likely she knows of her weapon/meister connection with you. Though I doubt they've brought up your more intimate relationship."

He can only blink owlishly at the doctor. It makes sense but…

"She was scared of me."

Stein breathes out heavily, but it's not his voice that that bounces off the lockers.

"Well what do you expect? Storming down the halls, yelling, banging, slamming doors, and running around like a crazy person. I'm surprise you didn't give her a heart attack!"

Soul winces.

Well, Kidd's pissed and very much correct.

Soul mentally kicks himself for his stupidity. His shoulders slump and burning red eyes lose a bit of their fire as they slide closed. Kidd ignores the dejected look on his friends face in favor of addressing Stein.

"How is she?"

"I still have some tests to run but her physical injuries are healing up fine. I still need to draw some blood work and run a scan on her head to see if the damage from the fall is still there."

"And then."

"If there is any damage, I'll need to see if I can do anything to reverse the injury so that it can heal. If there isn't, which is probably preferable here, all we can do is wait."

Soul looked up.

"Meaning?"

"Amnesia doesn't just reverse itself. Without something to physically repair, we would have to find ourselves a sort of catalyst, something that links with her on such an emotional and spiritual level that it will force her to remember her past. The memories may return slowly, if at all, until then as she relearns her way around Death City and reacquaints herself with the people here."

Soul looks lost thinking and trying to wrap his mind around what's been said so far, what this could mean for him. What this could mean for _them_.

Molten amber orbs gaze over him.

"Well, gentlemen, I must return to my patient. I should be done with the testing soon." He looks at Soul carefully, searching the weapon's expression. "She should be able to go home tonight, if you feel you're ready. If not I can have her stay the night in the dispensary."

"No, it's fine. She belongs home."

"Very well. I'll let her know you've decided to accommodate her. It will be her decision then."

Soul nods stiffly, understanding, as Stein turns around. The doctor's back disappears behind glass and wood with a soft click.

The weapon begins to shuffle his feet idly, a nervous habit he's never grown out of. Kidd's eyes never leave Soul as the weapon starts to run shaky fingers through spiky, unruly hair. It's as though he's waiting for something to happen. Or maybe he has something to say.

"I'm sorry, alright. We should have told you sooner."

Soul's eyes clench tightly, swallowing down the bitter taste of expired rage and anger. He's not happy about it, but he thinks he understand why Kidd went about things the way he did. Blood meets gold.

"Tell me everything," he commands, a light shining in his eyes that Kidd hasn't seen in a long time.

Kidd only nods.

* * *

><p>(With Maka)<p>

She can't stop shaking.

Her muscles trembling in surprise, fear, and… is this excitement? Was that really him? He looked so different than in her dreams and yet undeniably the same. Her dream lover had always been a teenager, which makes sense of course because she hasn't seen him in over two years, and she herself had been but a teen in those memories. He is older, more matured. Long gone is the boyish softness to his face or the awkwardness of his body. This a man well out of his boyhood.

"Maka, are you okay?"

She only reacts to Tsubaki's voice because the woman has placed a hand on her shoulder, the snap of skin on skin having drawn her attention to the door. Green eyes only stare blankly at the weapon.

"That was…"

"Yes, that was Soul."

She's messed up royally this time she thinks, her eyes sliding closed with the burden of it all. She feels like a complete ass for flinching. She should have just played it cool. How could she do something so stupid?

He'd scared her, yes. A door slamming not ten feet away from you isn't the most pleasant experience on the ear, particularly when one was currently located in a hospital/ clinic setting. The quiet just amplifies any disturbances in the air. And the shing of the curtain rungs sliding over the metal completely dissolved her tender composure. And though she knew who he was only a second after she saw him, she couldn't stop herself from flinching away.

But the look on his face. Was she right to return here? The hurt in his eyes. Damn it all, why couldn't she remember? If she'd only just kept her memories. If she'd only taken better care of herself. If she'd only just…

She was such an idiot. She _is _such an idiot.

"Maka…" calls Tsubaki in a soft tender voice. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

"But Tsubaki…"

"I know, I know. That was pretty bad, but they probably didn't get the chance to explain to him what's happened. I can hardly blame you for your reaction."

"Still, I feel like such an idiot."

"You know for the record, Soul wasn't exactly acting like the cool guy he likes to make himself out to be. Anyone would have been at least a little on edge from that fabulous display."

She sighs, knowing the weapon is right. But the doubt in her heart doesn't dissipate.

"Tsubaki, is it worth it?"

Crystal clear blue eyes cloud with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"He's gone through so much alone. Is it even worth it for him to wait for me? What if all this does is hurt him more?"

The weapon leans over and places a warm hand over Maka's while the other pulls her recovering best friend's face around by the chin to meet her own.

"Maka, you and Soul have been through too much together for it not to be."

She sighs to herself as though recalling a not so fond memory.

"Soul almost gave his life for you once."

Maka's eyes widen, the vague recollection of a flashback had so long ago pierced to the forefront of her memory. It's vague and fleeting, a crazed swordsman, the nauseating stench of fear, and the splattering of red, red blood.

"He still has the scar to prove it."

"What happened?"

"Well, I think I'll leave Soul to recount that story to you, but the one I'm trying to get at is about what happened after. You see, you became determined to get stronger so that Soul would never have to get hurt again on your behalf. And you wanted to do it alone. You were willing to go through any hardship to do it."

"Okay, but what does that have to do with this?"

"Well, the method you chose to get more powerful almost completely shattered your partnership. It required that you hurt each other to overcome your differences. It was actually kind of funny to watch at first, the way you two tried to bust each other's egos. But then things started to get dangerous. The procedure affected the both of you to the point where you couldn't even resonate on a most basic level. It could've cost both of you your lives if you hadn't come to your senses."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, in order of a meister to use a weapon properly, the two need to synchronize their wavelengths otherwise the weapon will reject the meister in such a way that can be harmless like being too heavy to lift, or it can be incredibly harmful to the meister as in this case soul's handle burned your hands pretty badly. It wasn't until you stopped fighting that your gloves stopped smoking. You even managed to defeat your opponent. You guys are strongest when you're working together, and being together some times means you have to struggle to stay that way."

Maka doesn't say anything as Tsubaki concludes.

"Soul cares about you very much. In his mind, I'm not sure there's anything too painful for him to live through so long as it means you're by his side. That's enough, isn't it?"

"I hope so," she whispers pitifully, lapsing into silence. She makes a promise to herself that she will open up to Soul. If it's the last thing she does, she will try and understand. So she ponders until Professor Stein returns to her bedside a few minutes later.

"Sorry about that Maka. Are you alright?"

She nods.

"Mhmm, is Soul alright?"

"Oh, don't worry about him. He's hotheaded but he'll be fine. You'll be happy to know he's agreed to let you stay with him so long as you choose to."

"Oh, he doesn't need to do that."

"On the contrary, wouldn't you like to return home? You and Soul have been living together for years."

"Oh, I didn't realize that."

"Take some time to think about it, but for now, let's get back to business. I need to draw some blood and then-"

"I think I will."

She wonders if she may or may not have something on her face with the way the two other occupants of the room are looking at her.

"Excuse me?"

"Go with Soul, that is. I think I will if he'll have me."

"Well alright then, but in the meantime, let's get your bloodwork going…"

Stein carries on to himself in a complex array of physician jargon about some medical procedure she couldn't care less about either completely uncaring or unaware of the tears steadily falling onto the crisp white linen of his patient's sheets. Tsubaki just squeezes the blonde's hand trying to will some of her own confidence into the girl at her side.

Maka can only pray for the will to keep pushing. She came back to Death City for a reason…

Right?

* * *

><p>"And that's everything we know," finishes Patti.<p>

After Soul's outburst and near fanatical temper tantrum, Kidd brought him back to the Death Room so he could fill both Soul and Lord Death in on the happenings in Mexico. The two remain quiet as Kidd, Black Star, Liz, and Patti recount the events that led to Maka's return. Though in Soul's case, he's too busy only half-hearing the report while the other half of his brain is counting back to every dream he's had in the last two years, every unexplainable notion he's ever had that she wasn't dead, every teeny tiny doubt piece of in his mind that, if he'd just listened to his instincts, might have led him to find Maka sooner.

"So she was taken in by doctors, aye. I wonder if she picked up any tricks of the trade."

"Well," answers Liz. "She did tell me that she's been working at the hospital for the last year and a half as a nurse and PA."

"Hmm, that could prove quite useful. We'll have Nygus test her on her medical knowledge. Perhaps we can have her work in the dispensary on the side while she's going through reintegration."

Soul's lip twitches.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea. It's something she's familiar with."

"Wait a minute, hold on," says Soul from Shinigami-sama's side, finally breaking the perpetual shroud of silence he's slipped into since reentering the Death Room. "Reintegration?"

"Oh, yes," explains Shinigami-sama. "The standard process of retraining a weapon or meister who has been out of commission for a time. Maka will be relearning hand to hand combat from Black Star while Stein will be overseeing her weapon training."

"Does she know about this?"

"Not every detail, but she has expressed an undeniable desire to reclaim her responsiblities as a meister. It's the whole reason she came back in the first place," answers Kidd.

He chews on this information thoughtfully. His brain feels like it could explode at any minute. Too much has happened too quickly. He's still trying to process the news. His meister is alive. She's alive, and she has no idea who he is. She's alive, has no idea who _she_ is, and yet she wants to return to her former duties.

There is some seriously flawed logic in that. How the hell…? No, wait a sec. Black Star had mentioned something important earlier.

"You said she was attacked by a kishin?" he asks, the question directed at Black Star who's been paying only a quarter of attention since he'd finished his retelling of the story. Patti slaps the meister over the head when he doesn't response after more than thirty seconds.

"What?"

He repeats the question.

"Oh, yeah. She almost had the damn thing, too. Don't know why she didn't kill it. Guess she just lost her nerve."

"What do you mean she almost had it?"

"As in she just about beat the damn thing. She shot out a wavelength and everything. You'd have been proud to see it, Soul," he says with an encouraging wink of an eye.

The edges of Soul's lips only twitch up ever so slightly. Silence falls over the death scythe again as he retreats back into the jumbled tidal wave of thoughts that have broken down the carefully constructed dam around his mind. There was no stopping the flood of emotions.

"Soul?"

"Yes, Lord Death?" For the first time he realizes that he's alone with the Death God. Now as a death scythe, there was nothing particularly odd about that. Certainly nothing uncomfortable, but considering his near assault on the man's son he probably expects his presence to be more than unappreciated.

Brace for Shinigami Chop?

"Why don't we skip today's training session? I have quite a bit of work to do, what with Maka's return and all. I can feel the paperwork piling up as we speak."

"For real?"

"Yes… For real."

There is indeed a merciful god, and he treats his disciples well. He's a little shocked, but he keeps his face blank as he studies his boss. The old god doesn't need to tell him what to do with his time. All the phantom does is nod at Soul, as if to say, 'go on.'

"Thank you…" he whispers giving a respectful bow to the headmaster before hurrying he way across the platform to the door.

"And Soul?"

"Hmm?" He offers a raised eyebrow at the reaper, halting his descent with his hand on the door.

"Never forget your light."

He nods slowly as makes his way to the exit of the Death Room, passing beneath the rows and rows of sharpened death. Cryptic much, he thinks tracking his way much like a bloodhound on the hunt through Shibusen's winding pathways tracing his steps back to the infirmary, only one objective in his mind. He hears the professors lecturing in the various classrooms as he passes by in far more subdued manner than the last time he hurricaned his way through the halls. He's more cautious this time around. In control. More aware of the person on the other side of the door. Fear rises like bile from the pit of his stomach. It curdles in his throat like a bad aftertaste. He has to utilize every ounce of willpower just to knock on the door.

Tsubaki is the one to open it.

"Soul! Come on in."

He enters peeling off his jacket and stepping into the small medical facility. The blonde is nowhere in sight, but on the bed she'd been sitting in earlier sits a cross-legged Black Star. He wonders why this doesn't bother him. Guess he's had his quota on panic attacks for the day, and no one else looks worried that Maka's gone so she couldn't have poofed into thin air. He spies his best friend, getting a good look at him for the first time today. The blue-haired menace is quiet and his hair is messier than normal, probably from running his fingers through it too much.

He looks stressed, which is odd. Black Star doesn't stress.

"Maka's not here right now."

"I can see that. Where is she?" he asks seating himself at the edge of the bed.

"Stein's taken her for one last test. He said it wouldn't take too long."

Soul nods as he and Black Star exchange a horizontal five.

"Done with your little hissy fit?"

"Black Star, you're hardly the standard for wild outbursts," chides Tsubaki.

He sends the meister a look that reads, plain and simple: 'fuck you.'

"Hey," defends the ninja, waving the white flag. "Can't say I blame you. If it'd been me I would've probably punched Kidd."

"Yeah, well you don't work directly under his father."

"True that. Bet cha got a good scolding for that," he says with a smirk, no doubt trying to lighten the weapon's spirits.

Soul thinks back to Shinigami's last piece of advice to him.

"Nah…" he says blankly staring ahead of him. He doesn't notice Black Star raise an eyebrow at him or the noise the ninja makes at the back of his throat in puzzlement. He leans back onto his hands ignoring Black Star in favor of Tsubaki. "How is she?"

"She's doing fine." She swats at her meister's hand as it tries to tangle in her hair before ensnaring it in her own. "She asked about you, Soul."

Soul looks at her in mild surprise before knocking his head backward in a scoff.

"Of course she did. Who wouldn't ask about a crazy idiot storming into her room?"

Black Star laughs out loud.

"No, you crazy idiot!"

Tsubaki is covering her own laugh behind a dainty hand.

"Actually, she felt bad about getting scared of you."

"What?"

"You saw it, didn't you? She recognized you."

He knows it's true. It was that very fact that had thrown him for a complete loop before. The shining glimmer in her eye she'd had just seconds after he'd walked into the room. He saw it. He remembers the way his heart had lifted when he saw the familiar gleam in her eye. He knows it was there, but…

"She has amnesia. She couldn't' have recognized me."  
>"But she did, Soul. She may not remember you, exactly, but she knows who you are."<p>

"How can you know that?"

The other weapon falls silent. Soul takes it as an admonition to her uncertainty.

"My point exactly."

She gives him the look. You know the one women give to only members of the testicle-bearing persuasion.

"Hmm, then I guess it was just a coincidence that she mentioned something about someone to come back to here in Death City. Surely, she must have been talking about something other than you."

"Nice shot at the sarcasm. You should work on that."

"Shut up, Soul."

"You still don't know who she was talking about."

"I don't have to know it to feel it. You are her weapon; can't _you_ tell?"

Soul opens his mouth to retort but…

"No, no, no. You see there is a slight disconnect from the base of the spin from the skull. That's what causes the buildup of…"

Voices sound from down the hall snapping the attention of all occupants of the room to the door. It's Dr. Stein and Maka, and they're talking about something the seemed mildly related to medicine. Not that any of them could tell.

Moment of truth here we come.

The doctor opens the door ushering Maka in. Her steps kind of stutter when she sees Soul sitting on her bed and she comes to a hiccupped halt.

"Hi, Soul," she says. Even though she's looking straight at him, she seems more a little unsure of herself, nervous. There's a shy intonation in her voice.

The male abruptly jerks to attention, hitting Black Star in the shoulder when he chuckles at him.

"Maka…"

What does he say? Should he apologize about earlier? He hasn't the slightest idea. Come on, Soul, where's your self induced cool guy training comes into action, he thinks. But he can't find anything to say because he's speechless in his astonishment. It's only second time he's seen her, but his reaction is no different from before. She looks breathtaking, wearing nothing but a bland, baggy hospital gown as he takes his first good look. He notices for the first time the bandages that don her hands and wrists and the healing scraps and bruises that decorate what he can see of her legs. From her fight with the kishin no doubt. Anger flares in the pit of his stomach.

Dr. Stein comes up behind the blonde before another word can be uttered between them, however. He places a hand on her shoulder and pushes her a little further into the room.

"Maka, why don't you go ahead and get dressed? Soul, can I speak to you a moment?"

He huffs more than a little exasperated with the doctor, now, but he gets up to follow him out. Something strange happens as he passes Maka, though. He feels the barest of touches on his shoulder. It's only there for a second, but he knows he felt it. He looks back, eyes searching for Maka. She's already moving towards her bag by the side of the bed, but her hand is floating down to her side from the contact.

She never sees his smile as he heads out into the hallway.

"What's up, Doc?"

"I have good news. Maka's injuries from the fall have all healed correctly which means I won't have to perform any kind of risky surgery. The bad news is, well, you know what that means."

He nods, thinking back to what Stein said earlier.

"I believe she's agreed to return with you. Though why, I have no idea."

"Shut it, old man," he growls, glaring daggers at the stitched man.

He only laughs, clapping his hands together.

"Fantastic. In that case, I've already spoken to Maka about her injuries and when her training starts. There's nothing more for me to do here, so I will leave you both to it."

Soul nods his goodbye to the professor as Stein's footsteps echo across the nearby lockers. Silence stretches for a time until the door behind Soul opens with a soft click. Black Star comes out with Tsubaki right behind him.

"Hey, Soul. Tsubaki and I are taking off. You need anything?"

"Nah, man. We'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, catch ya later," he grunts giving Soul a fuex salute. Tsubaki places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

"I told Maka to call us if either of you needed anything."

"Thanks, Tsubaki, but I think we'll be okay."

"Just take care, okay," she finishes letting him go to catch up with her meister.

"Yeah, sure," he says emptily watching after them.

Black Star turns around and yells back to Soul.

"Hey buddy, don't do anything too strenuous on the first night, ehh!"

"Black Star!" screams Tsubaki as she slaps her hand to the back of the loud-mouth's head. What a little pervert!

"But, dude, seriously though. Take care of her!"

Soul shakes his head at the display.

"Like I need to actually be told."

Fucking Black Star… he thinks, but he can't hold back the chuckle that escapes his throat. He composes himself quickly enough, however, and makes his way back into the infirmary.

"Maka?" he calls.

"Ouch!"

Curious. He hears a low bang following the slight curse, and rushes over to the other side of the concealing screen. What greets him, however, is not quite what he was expecting. Maka's in trouble, alright, but it's nothing too, shall we say worrisome.

If anything he's slightly taken aback.

* * *

><p>(With Maka)<p>

I shouldn't have touched him, she thinks berating herself. A thousand questions race through her mind. It's been two years. A lot can happen in two years. Even if her dreams are true that doesn't mean that what was true then is still true now. She's been labeled dead for Death's sake. He should have moved on by now. What if he has a new partner? What if he's seeing someone else? Does he even want her back like that?

It's too much to think about.

She carefully pulls out a change of clothing from her duffle bag trying to keep herself together long enough to save face while Black Star hops off of her bed and onto the floor.

"Black Star…" she starts hesitantly as she zips the bag back up having gathered the necessary items of clothing.

"I know, I know. I'll leave to let you change."

"No, it's not that. I was wondering if… If Soul has… I mean is there anyone…?"

She fiddles shamelessly with the hem of her gown. The slight pinkening of her cheeks all but shouts her thoughts and the current anxiety welling in her heart over the school's loudspeaker. Put her on a soap box and give her the mike. Maybe she'll get the teenage girls gushing. It's then the true meaning of her question seems to dawn on Black Star.

"Oh… Oh! Hell no. I mean we've tried to get him to go on dates or take a new meister, but he's a stubborn bastard, you're weapon."

She exhales softly. She didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath. '…You're weapon.' Some teeny, tiny part of her likes the way that sounds.

"Thank you."

"Eh, nothing to it." He waves it off. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he's more than excited to be taking you home, if you know what I mean."

She doesn't, but she might be able to guess if the suggestive wiggle of his brow is anything to go on.

"Oh, Black Star, leave the girl alone. It's her first day back," snaps Tsubaki giving the male a good slap in the arm.

"I'm just saying. It's been two years," he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "Soul's bound to be more than a little-"

"Finish that sentence, and you will be sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week."

"Shutting up."

"Sorry about that, Maka."

The girl in question is staring at Black Star like the man's grown a second head. Is he just teasing her, or is he serious about what he's implying? It's probably best not to pay him any mind. It is Black Star after all. She doesn't have much time to process because Tsubaki is asking her another question.

"You sure you're okay to go home with Soul? We don't mind having you at our place."

"I'll be fine, Tsubaki, really."

"Okay, if you're sure?"

"I'm sure," she laughs. "Go on. Black Star's already halfway out the door."

"Hn, hardly," huffs the ninja as he pulls her into a hug. "Be careful with him, alright. He's been through a lot."

"I can imagine," she says, her eyes downcast as he pulls away heading for the door.

"You both have," inserts Tsubaki as she too gives Maka a hug before following after her meister. "If either of you need anything, give us a call, okay?"

"Okay," she nods giving a soft smile.

Tsubaki smiles back at her briefly before closing the door behind her.

Maka takes her time undoing the strings holding the gown closed. She has more than a bit of difficulty with the top tie. It seems to be a bit twisted up, but she pays it no mind letting the gown hang open as she pulls on her skirt. It isn't until she starts pulling off the dress that she freezes. Houston we have a problem.

"Maka?"

A big problem.

The low timbre of Soul's voice completely startles her. She's jumps at least two feet into the air, landing none too gracefully at the perfect angle for her hip to collide quite artfully with the edge of the bedrail.

"Ouch!"

Footsteps coming closer. This is so not good, she thinks.

And there he is.

She's just about half naked as she's managed to put her skirt back on. It's her chest that's all but bare to the world. If it weren't for the tight binding of gauze meticulously wrapped around her chest, she would be showing off all her goodies. The hospital gown, which was seemingly in the process of being removed completely from her body, is caught on her left arm. The string of the last tie has wrapped itself in the bandaging around her shoulder.

She blushes bright red at the sight of him before explaining more than a little flustered.

"Eh… I'm a little stuck."

He seems to finally catch on to her little dilemma, but he doesn't move forward right away. She averts her eyes, looking everywhere but at him simply unwilling to watch him watch her. Great, prepare for your humiliation, Maka. First day back and you've already given the man of your dreams (literally) the chance to laugh at you. Go on, do it! You know you want to.

"Do you want some help?"

He isn't condescending about it. In fact, he asks like he fully expects an answer in the negative.

Instead a soft "please" falls from her lips. He approaches her slowly as she turns around. She's a little self-conscious about exposing her back to him. The wrapping around her chest, even though it is successfully maintaining her modesty, has come undone just enough to expose the just healing lacerations on her back. But he makes no comment, and his fingers are careful as they untangle the material and slip the gown off her shoulder tossing it toward the bed. Her eyes slide closed. He even adjusts the bandages so that they cover her injuries, but she's not really processing what he's doing behind her.

All she's aware of is the heat of his touch and the barely contained fire he's igniting deep within her with every fleeting graze of his skin on hers. She can almost feel the furnace that is his body heat despite the distance between their bodies. He's fueling the flames of awareness within her and he doesn't even know it.

But suddenly it's gone, and he's pressing her top into her hands stepping away from her as she pulls the white tunic over her head so it rests snuggly over her petit form.

"Ready?" he asks. She turns around to find him already standing by the door, her duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

"For what?"

He doesn't react in any negative way at her question. He just calmly leans against the door.

"For me to take you home, of course."

"Home?"

"Yeah… ours," he says, looking away from her. There's a touch of fear in his eyes. He's unsure if she even wants to come with him. "Unless, of course, you'd rather spend the night here?"

She slips on her sandals, taking a quick glance around the room to make sure she's not forgetting anything before looking back at him.

"No, I'd rather come with you."

His eyes seem to lighten, and she's absolutely stunned. It's the first time she's seen his smile. It's small and a little sad around the edges, but it's aimed at her, and her heart flutters as if trying to take flight. It leaves her spellbound. Speechless, and maybe just a little more certain of her decision to return to Death City.

She smiles back shyly and walks toward him to let him guide her out.

* * *

><p>Soul forgot something, but he can't quite remember what that was.<p>

The walk home is a quiet, mostly awkward affair. Each of them try to initiate conversation, but for one reason or another, the discussions die before they can last more than three or four sentences. It's an amazing relief to Soul (and Maka) when they finally reach the door, and he unlocks it with a quick flick of the wrist.

He ushers her inside ahead of him completely unmindful of a certain magical cat scuffling about on her way to work. The thought didn't even cross his mind to call Blair and explain what is going on. That is until he hears the high pitched gasp from across the walkway. The following girlish squeal that spills from the cat's mouth is probably loud enough to drown out a freight train. One second she's in cat form, the next she's bouncing – well she's actually running but certain aspects of her anatomy might as well have been jumping rope – across the room making a beeline for Maka.

His eyes widen, and he's about to reach for Maka and pull her back out the door, but alas, he's far too late. Blair's faster than a cheetah when she wants to be.

The poor blonde doesn't know what's happening. One moment she is standing up and looking around – she spies a cat walking past the kitchen – the next she's on the floor with a stupidly large busted woman rubbing her cheek roughly against her own, chanting her name in a way that can only be described as purring. Oh, Lord, is that a tail she sees out of the corner of her eye.

"Blair!" yells Soul, pulling the feline off the now completely disoriented woman. She shifts to her cat form in his hand, and he fumbles with the animal 'til he holds her by the scruff of the neck in front of his face. "Blair," he growls again.

"Soouul…" she whines as he drops her, nonchalantly, to the floor in favor of helping Maka up – she's clenching one hand to her side, but by the time he reaches her to help, she's halfway to her feet. He places one hand over her own at her battered ribcage, and the other under her arm.

"Blair, you idiot. She has a cracked rib."

He could seriously kick the damn cat.

"No, no, Soul, I'm fine. Really. She just jarred me," Maka placates him. She stands up straight, nudging at his hands to release her or at least give her a bit of free reign. She bravely hides a wince. "See, no harm done."

He just sighs, finally moving his hands from her body, albeit reluctantly.

"Oh, Maka. Bu-tan is so sorry. She's just so happy to see you. You're alive!"

Maka gives the talking cat a look mixed with confusion…

"Bu-tan?"

…and astonishment.

"A talking cat?"

Now Blair's confused. She stands their blinking dumbly at the meister. Shit! Soul runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Maka, this is Blair - she calls herself Bu-tan. She's our magical pet cat/ roommate."

"Oh," she murmurs as Soul pushes her further into the apartment all the way to her room, a hand placed on the small of her back, mindful of the still healing lacerations on her back. He noticed them earlier in the dispensary with a not so gentle pang of displeasure. Blair, still perplexed by this stunning turn of events, leaps up onto Soul's shoulder.

"Soul," she hisses at him so only the weapon could hear. "Is she a zombie?"

"NO!" he barks.

"Then what's going on?"

"I'll explain later. It's complicated," he whispers.

"Alright," she mews sounding coy, and she jumps from his shoulder into the doorway of Maka's room where Maka stands. "I'm going to work. I won't be back until late."

She leaps toward the front door, Maka's eyes following the cat the whole way. Blair turns back with a suggestive wink.

"Now behave, you two," she sing-songs, flitting out the door and into the evening light.

What is with these people? First Black Star, now Blair. What kind of man do they take him for? Not only is she injured, he has amnesia for Christ's sake. He has morals, ya know. Though… -he must admit looking at Maka's blushing face, reactions like that might inspire him to some mischief if she wasn't careful.

Fortunately, she ducks into the room he'd identified as hers before his mind can run away with him. He shakes himself, following after her. He expects to find her already unpacking, but instead the duffle bag lies untouched on the bed, and she is frozen, staring in wonder at the bookcase.

"I've read all of these?"

He leans against the wall next to the door, arms crossed with a smirk on his face.

"As far as I know, yeah. You're quite the bookworm."

No need to mention that at least two thirds of those books, if not all, have collided with his skull at some point or other. Good ole Dickens probably had his name imprinted somewhere between memory loss and a bad hair day.

He watches as she looks from him to back to the bookshelf in wonderment. She raises a hand to carefully, almost lovingly, trace the spines of the books. He closes his eyes, turning away from the scene. Though it may have been a slight mercy that she's been returned to him safely, he knows the gods have a sick sense of humor. He doesn't know what's sadder, knowing that she doesn't remember him, her weapon, trusted partner, and lover or knowing that she doesn't remember the stories that captured her imagination long before he'd even entered her life to catch her heart.

He feels like he's wished upon a star without reading the fine print and out of some cosmic joke, he's been given a half empty glass with a crack at the bottom. It will never remain filled no matter how much water he pours into it. He can't watch this without feeling cheated.

"There's not much food around this place," he explains breaking her from her trance. "Sound good if I order us a pizza?"

"Uh, sure. I can cover half the-"

"Nah, don't worry about it. My treat."

She hesitates only a moment.

"Alright… I eat-"

"Veggie-lover without the olives. I know." She smiles softly, but he doesn't see it because his back is turned, and he's already leaving the room. "You probably want some time to yourself. I'll let you know when dinner's here"

"Thanks, Soul. I'd like that."

"Of course," he says finally look back at her, one hand on the doorframe. "Anytime, Maka."

And then he's gone, closing the door behind him so that it stays open just a crack. A silent invitation for her to come out anytime.

* * *

><p>Dinner is a mostly quiet affair. He eats in the living room on the couch mindlessly watching the TV while she stays in the kitchen eating quietly at the counter while she thumbs through some random text she's discovered – it looks like something from their freshman year. When the plates are cleared and any remaining leftovers placed in the fridge, she attempts to start conversation.<p>

"Did Black Star say when I was going to start training?"

"Umm… I think you start the day after tomorrow. Stein wanted to make sure your injuries were completely healed before you start anything too physical."

"Oh, okay. So then, what are you doing tomorrow?"

Should he dare hope…? He looks at her carefully for a moment before answering.

"I have training with Lord Death. I'm in the process of becoming his personal weapon."

Her eyes seem to light up, and Soul's heart could soar for the hope it gives him. He sits up straighter and suddenly his attention is 100% on her. Does she remember her dream? Please, tell him she does. Please give him a sign. Anything to tell him it's Maka in there, not just some empty shell that looks and walks and talks like her.

"Wow that must be quite an honor."

She's confused as his face seems to crumble in on itself. His shoulders slump and he reclines, as though defeated against the sofa. She doesn't understand. Was it something she said?

"Yeah, it's great."

He turns off the TV ready to turn in for the night. That's when she surprises him.

Her presence suddenly floods his senses as she's not only thrown herself into his lap (okay more like placed herself), but her arms are around him, and her face has buried itself in the crook of his neck. Her smell, a blend of sea breeze and citrus, assaults his nose. Ashy, faintly golden locks of hair invade his vision, tickling over his neck and shoulders. Her skin is the worst though. It sears him. Her heat is a comforting fireplace amidst a blizzard he's anxious to lean into as an escape from the cold. She isn't noisy or even all that heavy in his lap.

And surprisingly, he doesn't find himself even remotely uncomfortable.

He wants to hold her so badly, pull her closer, press her body deeper into his own, declare his heart to her over and over again, to kiss her in the simplest of intimacies. But he holds absolutely still, his hands braced just behind his back. This isn't really Maka. He has to remember that. To forget could mean the end of him. It could mean the end of them! He might scare her away. Hurt her. Cause even more damage to her already tattered mind. Any actions he takes from now on, they can't disrupt the healing process that needs to take place. All it would take is one fumble, and a piece of the puzzle could be lost forever to the blackness of her mind, never to resurface again in any way, shape, or form.

So even as her tears soak into the fabric of his shirt and her arms tighten around him, he stays perfectly still, his muscles wound taunt as a piano coil.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. The sound so soft he's not even sure he heard it. But it's real, and it pushes him from his stillness as she repeats, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He's hands find purchase on her shoulders gently pushing her away from him. He's the one who should be sorry. If he'd just been better, this never would have happened. He can't for the life of him understand. Why is _she _apologizing?

"For everything…" Watery sea-green eyes lift to meet his unwavering red. "I know you've missed her… uh, me… I know you've missed me. I'm just sorry I can't remember."

And suddenly he understands.

He pulls her back gently to that she's flush against his body, burying his head in the warmth of her neck and chest. He's almost afraid he might be crushing her. She's so small compared to him. All thin flesh and bone, not an ounce of fat on her body. The muscle she used to carry is gone from lack of training and practice. She just seems so fragile, frail compared to the unbeatable, unbelievably powerful woman she used to be. But he understands, now. Kidd and Black Star didn't drag her back here by the hair. She didn't return because they told her this is where she belonged. _She_ wanted to come back. _She_ wants her memories back. She wants to remember him just as badly, if not more so, as he does.

And it's not just that.

He realizes then that this isn't some cold, dead body he's holding in his arms. She is warmth and sound and life. A heartbeat and a breath. A soul – he can feel it now that they've touched. Her soul, her grigori soul, though it sleeps, is calling for his. It's quiet, barely a whisper soft as an infant's heartbeat, but it's there. He can hear it. It is nestled in the safety of her living, breathing body just waiting for the chance to spread its wings again. She may not consciously remember him, but her soul does, and with that knowledge, he can push forward. He can look to tomorrow. He can dream freely of their future together once again. He can help her. He can hope.

So as her sobs quiet and her mind is lulled to the abyss of sleep by the rhythmic thrumming of his fingers on her back and head, as he takes her to bed and tucks her in, as he closes her bedroom door behind him, he thinks… No, he knows they'll make it through this. Because after everything they've been through together, they have no choice but to push. They have no choice but to keep on fighting for what matters the most to both of them:

Each other.

So as he undresses, changing into his night clothes and settling under the covers of his bed, one thought escapes contented lips before he too finds the welcoming embrace of dreaming.

"Welcome home, Maka."

TBC

Please Review.

Working on the next chapter. I'll have it out asap.


	9. Walking with Strangers

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or anything by the Birthday Massacre. I also do not own the song _Pop! Goes the Weasel_.

Author's Note: Once again thank you to everyone who reviewed. Here is the next installment of Remember Me. I hope you enjoy it.

Pssst… When you're finished reading, you should really review. ;-)

Remember Me

Walking with Strangers

Bang

Bang

Bang

Maka wakes up with a jolt.

"Where am I?"

It takes her a whole five seconds to realize where the heck she is and in doing so, is able remember the events of the previous day. She slept in her own bed for the first time in god knows how long with Soul just across the hall. Wait a minute, why is she awake again?

"Maka! Open the door!"

"Patti?" she wonders aloud.

Still groggy, she pulls the covers off of her body making her way out of the warm confinement of her room toward the front door. The inside of the apartment is still and silent, either Soul is still asleep or gone. There's no sign of the cat either.

Unlocking the bolts, she opens the door like one would wind up a jack in the box. Round and round the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey stopped to pull up his socks and…(a)

"Ah! Honey!"

Pop! goes the weasel!

Liz and Patti are excited to see her. Liz immediately latches onto her neck while Patti bounds past her heading straight to her room.

"Liz, Patti, Good morning," she says, pulling away from Liz with forced cheerfulness rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, we knew Soul was going to be busy for the majority of today, so we thought we'd keep you company," explains Liz walking past her and into the kitchen. "Now how about we get some breakfast in you, and hit the shops."

"Shops…?"

"Yeah, silly," shouts Patti as she leaps out of her room, a large smile on her face. "We're taking you out shopping."

"But-" a piece of fabric hits her square in the face.

"No, buts. Now get dressed," the smaller girl commands, tossing more clothing at her. "We need to find you some new clothes."

"But I don't need any clothes," she sputters out ripping her thrown clothes from her face angrily.

"Sure you do," says Patti.

"Come on, Maka, you're about to go through some serious retraining, so you need gym clothes, not to mention a new missions outfit. Don't tell me you plan to wear a school girl outfit when you're nearly twenty years old."

She does have a point, Maka thinks as she makes her way back to her room to change. Patti's picked out a simple, white, button up top for her and a simple loose blue skirt. She pairs it with some white ballet flats all the while think how exactly she was going to pull off leaving the house. She is the only one home, and she doesn't have a key to lock the door behind her. She didn't want to leave the door open.

"Maka, come on breakfast is ready."

The smell of fresh toast and eggs wafts over the jumbled expanse of her thoughts, and she finally goes to greet the two demon guns in the kitchen. The girls are already eating, but Liz has prepared a plate for her. As she sits down to eat, Liz slides a piece of paper over to her.

"It would seem someone left you a note."

She eyeballs it taking a bite of toast. It's just a yellow piece of loose-leaf paper and there's a key on top of it. The writing, though legible, is a messy half-cursive, half-printed scrawl across the small page.

**Maka,**

**Here's your old key to the apartment. I'll be gone until late, so you've pretty much got the day to yourself. I figure you won't want to stay cooped up in the apartment all day, besides I'm halfway certain somebody is going to try and kidnap you for some girlie thing or other.**

**See you tonight,**

**Soul**

Short, sweet, and to the point. There was nothing all together touching about the message, but Maka couldn't help the smile that touched her lips at the fact that he'd been thoughtful enough to leave a note. So apparently he won't be back until evening. Maybe this little excursion she's about to go on with the twin pistols won't be such a harrowing ordeal after all.

So they finish their breakfast quickly. Maka listens while the two carry on a dizzying conversation on the latest styles and what stores have the best deals. It's enough to make Maka's head spin, but she is sorely disappointed to find that that feeling doesn't even begin to compare to the one she gains once they get out into the actual merchandising section of town. The sisters play tug-o-war, and she's the rope being pulled her back and forth, in and out of dressing rooms, and around gaudy shoe displays and tacky mannequins dressed in entirely too much sequins, glitter, and all other manner of blinding decoration.

But the pair is on a mission, and it matters not how much hell and high-water Maka may throw at them (though if you asked her she'd tell you she was the model of reluctant acquiescence), they do not budge in their task. By the time they complete it, hours upon hours later, Maka can feel the sharp throb of a headache taking root behind her eyes. It blooms like an ugly Venus fly trap ready to latch onto and feed off of any piece of sound that's just a hair too loud or any spark of light that's just a fraction too bright. It contrasts the numbness in her wrists and hands. Her arms are decorated with bags carrying several well made purchases. Patti even holds a few for her.

"Well we got everything we needed to get," the taller sister says to her sweetly. "How about we grab a late lunch? My treat."

"Oooh, sis, we should go to that café Kidd took us to once."

"Oh, yeah! Well, what do you say, Maka?"

She's reluctant to agree because she is just about dead on her feet. She's achy and tired, and her level of tolerance for anything has plummeted to the depths of oblivion, but she's hungry and parched of thirst, and maybe a good meal will give her enough strength to make her way back to the apartment.

"Sure…" she sighs out.

"Great!" she cries, grabbing Maka by the hand and pulling her along the sidewalk. "I know this neat little French café just around the block. They have great lunch specials."

Not twenty minutes later, she finds herself sitting at a booth with Liz and Patti at_ Déjeuner de la Mort_ sipping on a tall, cool glass of sweetened lemon tea. She's ordered a chicken Caesar salad with a vegetable soup on the side while Liz drinks water with a chicken club sandwich, and Patti's drooling over a huge plate of pasta, the diet coke at her side completely unappetizing at this point.

She lapses into silence, the three girls calmly picking at their food. Maka wonders if maybe she just knew a bit more about Soul, she might remember something important. What kind of person is he? She has no idea. What are his hobbies? This disembodied idea of music crosses her mind, but she doesn't know if that's just her imagination acting up or fact. What kind of food does he eat? Well, he obviously likes meat if the pizza he'd ordered last night was any indication to that. Meat lovers, ick. She could swear she saw anchovies on that thing.

"Soooo, how's it going?"

She looks up from her food to Liz.

"Fine…" she says carefully around the food in her mouth not entirely understanding the question.

"I mean with Soul. How was it?"

"Fine…" she answers again, more than a little wary.

Patti tries for a different approach.

"And? How's Soul? Did you guys, ya know, _do_ anything last night?" a little wiggle of her brow.

Maka stares at the shorter blonde with a blank expression of disbelief on her face. What is it with these people? She can't possibly mean what she thinks she means.

"He's good… We didn't really do much. He just ordered us pizza."

"That's it! Aww, Soul, you're breaking my heart!" Patti dramatizes a fake faint against her sister's shoulder, gushing and fanning herself like a high school cheerleader. Liz laughs pushing her sister off her toward the window before looking at Maka with a smile.

"So nothing happened?"

"Well…"

"Oh, oh, come on. Spill it!"

"He knew my favorite type of pizza."

"Seriously…" dead pans Patti.

"I know, it's dumb, but it just surprised me that he knew it."

"Well, of course, he does," laughs Liz. "You two have been living together since you were thirteen years old."

"Really?"

"Yeah, ever since you two became partners."

"Wow, I didn't realize we'd been together that long."

"Well, you guys have been together just about as long as everybody else who makes up Spartoi. It's seriously been an eternity. How long have we been with Kidd, Patti? Almost ten years?"

"Hmm, eight, I think… No, seven. Ooo, don't tell Kidd that. He'll bust an organ."

"Yeah, we're definitely not celebrating this year's anniversary."

"So the other members of Spartoi," interrupts Maka, anxious to turn the topic back to something she might get something out of. "Will I be seeing them any time soon?"

"I don't see why not. You've kinda already seen Kim. She was the one that nearly ran over you yesterday, and as far as the others, I'm sure Ox and Kilik will pop in during your training with Black Star at some point."

"Don't forget, sis, they're thinking about throwing a welcome back party."

"Oh, no. No one needs to do that," she blurts out, holding her hands up in surrender.

"Yeah," drawls Liz. "We'll see about that. Soul's not really one for big get-togethers anyway. Hell, we had to guilt-trip him into going to the last one."  
>"Oh?"<p>

"Yeah, he's a bit of an introvert that one," answers Patti before her sister continues.

"Mhmm, he usual just hangs out to the balcony until you go and get him. Even then sometimes he wouldn't come back inside to the party. But you always got him some kind of fish from the buffet. It never failed."

"But I hate fish."

"We know, but Soul loves it. Especially raw," she finishes with a frown. "I don't know. I can barely stand the smell of the stuff."

Patti and Maka laugh at Liz's face.

So it's in this manner that lunch passes, the three making light, comfortable conversation. By the time Maka gets back to the apartment, it is fifteen past three. She deposits her bags on the bed before she goes and sorts through them. A soft pattering of feet meets her ear and suddenly a little black feline has popped up onto her bed.

"Went shopping have we?"

"Oh, hi, Blair. Yeah, Liz and Patti basically dragged me out of the apartment."

"Hmmm, get anything interesting?"

She shakes her head. Is it just her or is it odd that she doesn't find anything wrong with holding a conversation with a cat?

"Not really. Just some training outfits and something Liz told me to wear for missions."

"Ooo, a new mission outfit. Can Bu-tan see?"

Maka pauses in her task, making a small face.

"Ehh, I don't know. It's kind of revealing, and I don't even know if I'm going to use it yet."

The cat nods with a small smile – Can cats smile? – and curls up on her bed just watching the blonde shuffle about putting everything away in its proper place. When she finishes, she glances around the room and gathers up the now empty shopping bags, folding them and taking them out to the kitchen. Blair follows her silently jumping up onto the countertop while she looks for the cupboard used for storing bags.

However, passing by the stove, pantry, and refrigerator, a sudden idea strikes Maka's head.

"Um, Blair?"

"Yes?"

The cat is grooming herself. She looks up from her bath, somewhat afraid she's about to be scolded for doing so on the kitchen counter. But that's not at all what Maka's intentions are focused toward.

"What is Soul's favorite fish to eat?"

The cat cocks one ear straight into the air. That's a random question.

"I think it's salmon."

"Hmm, okay. I think I can work with that," she says eyeing the fridge. She has some research to do, but she hopes this works out the way she wants it to.

* * *

><p><em>Shing!<em>

A scream of metal on metal. The sound is commonplace to Soul. He could sleep through the high pitches if he wanted to, but today the cacophony of noise hits his brain like a bat shattering glass. The ungodly sound reaps havoc on weapon form, a shiver scaling his entire haft. His eye closes in exhaustion only to reopen in curiosity when Shinigami-sama sets him gently on the floor.

"Lord Death?"

"Soul, why don't we stop here for the day?"

"But, sir…" he's sure he's still got another hour or so left in him.

"Nuh uh, you've been here all day. Isn't there some place else you would rather be?"

A flash of light later and Soul stands before the master of death in his human form. It's the first time he's been out of weapon form in almost three hours. It was at his own insistence, of course: So long as he was training, focusing on the task at hand, he could ignore the thoughts almost boiling over the bubbling pool of his thinking. But now he thinks he may regret that decision.

'Cause man, is he hurting!

His legs felt like lead. The muscles of his back and shoulders may well have been solid brick for all he's able to move them, and his entire right arm and shoulder flairs angrily in protest at the slightest movement. An injury, he thinks without a doubt. It must be from when Stein delivered his wavelength directly into the crown of metal just behind his eye – the bastard had joined them for an afternoon spar just before the doctor would be heading home. Hn, if he thought Black Star's wavelength hurt like a mother that many years ago, he wouldn't have even been able to imagine Stein's. Damn, he's gonna be sore for weeks.

A hand on his head pulls him from his inner monologue/ rant, and Lord Death is pivoting the disgruntled scythe around with a careful hand so that another giant glove may gently manipulate his right arm into a ninety degree angle. All the while, tiny zaps of liquid electricity tingle up and down the appendage as it is lifted. The pain is enough to make Soul grit his teeth.

"Hmm… This does not look good," coos the reaper as he inspects the injury with a series of prods and squeezes across his battered arm and shoulder. One eye screwed shut in a wince, Soul hesitantly looks down at the object of his master's focus. There's nothing visibly wrong with the flesh itself, nothing looks out of alignment. Besides the slight bruising along his scapula and shoulder socket, there's no sign of mistreatment on his skin, but still the muscles twitch and spasm under Death's ministrations. "Now, I'm no doctor, but I should say you get that checked as soon as possible."

Soul looks at his watch, nearly 7:30, way past school hours.

"It's late. I doubt anyone will still be in the dispensary."

"Why don't you ask Maka to take a look at it? I'm sure she won't mind."

He pulls out of the god's loosening grip absentmindedly trying to roll out the sore shoulder, but he freezes about halfway through with a hiss at the sharp stab of molten agony that greets him. He tries not to show it on his face as he tries to find a neutral position to carry the arm, but the area burns with the familiar heat of an injury.

But he swallows it down, too stubborn to adhere to it.

"Nah, it's fine. I'll just ask Nygus to look at it in the morning," he grits out, trying to mask the discomfort with a forced laugh as he pulls on his muscle shirt and jacket with slow and deliberate movements.

"Suit yourself. Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow morning at, oh, let's say 9:30."

"Yes, Sir."

"Very good. Dismissed."

He bows quickly and quietly, taking his leave of the Death Room.

* * *

><p>You never quite realize the passing of time when you're surrounded by the eternally blue skies of the Death God's chambers. At least, that's what Soul thinks as he steps out into the waning light, the sun huffing and puffing on the horizon spent from its day of laughter and foolery more than ready to find its resting place for the night.<p>

He thinks of little as he makes his way to his cycle, guiding it onto the winding roads of Death City. But as the wind tangles in his hair and the healthy roar of the bike drowns out the chaos around him, his mind can't help but wander onto the spiral of questions that not only raise his blood pressure but shred his already frayed nerves to bits.

And they all center around one adored but troublesome woman.

Is she happy to be back? He wonders what she's done today, whether or not she actually needed the key he left her this morning. And if she did, will she be home when he gets there? Will she be happy to see him?

He feels like a wimpy, little teenager who's too nervous to go on his first date. But he is by no means a wimp. Hell, he's not even a teenager anymore, so what gives? If it weren't for the pain already coursing over his already beaten body, he would've smacked himself upside the head for acting so uncool as he parks his bike on the curb of their building. It is well past sundown by the time he unlocks the front door to his apartment.

"Maka, I'm home," he calls out into the soft shadows of the house. "You here?"

"Yes, I'm here. Welcome back."

Her voice cascades over him like the soft tinkling of bells, gracing his ears in its pleasant texture and drowning at least a fraction of the doubt that had surfaced at the bridge of his thoughts during his trip back. He smiles to himself as he removes his shoes and jacket when a palatable, mouthwatering aroma fills his nostrils.

Sniff, sniff… Is that…?

No… It can't be…

He turns a few lights on in his path. His footsteps are loud against the carpeting as he hastily follows his nose directly to the kitchen. The sight that accosts him is enough to halt the very breath in his lungs.

Maybe it _could_ be.

There she is in all her glory, looking perfectly at home in their kitchen. At the moment, she's bent over the oven, seemingly checking on, judging by the steadily swelling perfume, the halfway cooked meal. She must have absolutely no idea he's standing right behind her because not only is she wearing his apron but she's giving quite the stunning view of her backside, clothed in a pair of snug fitting grey sweats.

"Maka…"

She looks over her shoulder at him.

"Oh, Soul," she exclaims, carefully closing the oven door and standing. She grabs a rag off the stovetop and continues puttering about the small kitchen. "Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. You like baked salmon, right?"

Surely he's imagining the slight welling of blood in her cheeks as she hastily angles her face away from him as she busily cleans an already spotless section of the countertop.

"Yeah," he grunts, coughing into his hand. "It's one of my favorites."

And he walks over, picking up some of the dirty pans to rinse in the sink beside her. He sneakily steals glances at her from under his bangs as he lets the water run over one steal pan.

"You know you didn't have to."

He catches only a glimpse of her smile out of the corner of his eye.

"I know," she chirps, matter-o-factly. "But I wanted to."

She gifts him with a most radiant, shimmering smile as she glides past him to set a bowl of salad on the table, but he proceeds in his rinsing unmindful to the puzzlement slowly growing behind her eyes. She takes two quick glances at him. The first is because she thought she noticed something off about his posture when she looked at him before. Yes, he normally slouches over when he's at ease, but he seems to be favoring one side over the other. The second is to confirm her suspicions, and the third time she looks at him, her gaze narrows. She's not looking at him, exactly; she's looking at his shoulder and the faint bruising surrounding the area. He's holding it in a half carriage pressed tightly against his side, his forearm resting on his hip like one would hold an arm in a sling.

"What happened to your arm?"

Suddenly she's by his side. Her hands are cool on his sensitive skin. The pulsing burn of his injury eases ever so slightly at the contact, but he pulls her hands off of him anyway, and pushes her away gently, not wanting her to worry for him or take offense at his actions.

"Nothing, just a bit of a strain."

She either doesn't believe him or just blatantly ignores him, taking the plate he's just picked up out of his hands and turning off the water.

"Let me see."

Nope, she definitely wasn't buying it.

"Maka, it's fine," he protests even though she's already pushing him toward the living room couch.

"Just lay down. You might want to take off your shirt."

"Maka, really, you don't have to-"

She cuts him off with a look that could set fire to a snowstorm: It reminds him a bit of the old Maka until she speaks all too sweetly.

"Please… I won't even ask how it happened."

He grudgingly concedes to her wishes with a sigh, peeling off his shirt with one hand and laying on his stomach as instructed. She disappears into her room for quick moment while he does this. When she comes back out, she seems to be rubbing some sort of ointment into her hands. It smells minty with a mixture of underlying herbs, and it cools on his skin as her fingers begin their inspection. It even tingles, but in a good way.

Her tender examination is so much more pleasant than Lord Death's had been. Where his boss's heavy hand had poked and prodded at him, hers massage and knead the flesh like batter, loosening charred granite into malleable muscle with a symphony of touches, and as she progresses up the contours of his arm, he slowly finds the rest of his body unceremoniously sinking into the oh so soft cushions of the sofa.

"You're awfully good at that," he sighs, his voice muffled by the pillow he speaks into.

His ears perk up at the quiet giggle she exhales.

"I've looked at a lot of injuries in the past. I find it easier to find and fix a problem when my patient isn't screaming bloody murder."

He chuckles. It's no more than a deep rumble in his chest, but he knows she can feel it ripple through his body as her hands slither up to his bicep.

"Ah, so the massage is just you manipulating me into holding still. I got ya."

"Partially, but I'm actually looking for any knots in the muscle." She trails off a moment before continuing. "Sooo, besides this, how was your day?"

"Exhausting," he huffs honestly. "Stein came in for a spar. That's how _this_ happened."

"Doctor Stein…! I didn't realize he could cause this much damage."

"Yeah, he's definitely one of the Academy's finest."

He cringes as her finger digs into a particularly raw area. She notices his reaction, letting up just so but doting her attention on the spot with calculated strokes and measured amounts of pressure.

"Should I be scared?"

He shifts his head toward her slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Stein is supposed to be overseeing my weapon training, isn't he?"

He stiffens. He'd forgotten about that.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't worry too much about it. He's not one to actually hurt his students."

He's kind enough not to mention the professor's less than sane favor for dissecting things and the near run in with his scalpel she'd had when they were younger. She looks skeptical, though, so he adds on hastily.

"Besides, I'll be there with you."

She looks a little forlorn, focusing her attention back to her hands.

"That's right…"

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, her hands positioned at his elbow and shoulder.

"Nothing. It's just hard to believe a death scythe is allowing me to wield him."

This time he laughs outright, his whole body shaking with bitter delight. It's official. Her return has officially driven him mad. Maybe he's dipped his toes just one time too many into the Black Blood. No sane person would ever in their right minds take such sick pleasure at having their poor, recovering partner/ girlfriend say something so disgustingly uncharacteristic. Excluding Black Star, there was only one person in his life who's ego both outclassed and outmatched his own, and that was Maka. For her to even think to say something so utterly ridiculous as that, well… He'd better soak it up while it lasts. Great, now she's even looking at him like he's lost his mind.

He calms his hackles into a dull snicker before fielding the unspoken question.

"Hardly unimaginable considering_ you're_ the one who made me one."

Understanding dawns on her face that she probably just stroked his ego right into next Tuesday. Duh, she thinks. She was his meister after all. She takes her revenge with a particularly harsh dig into his shoulder.

"Argh!"

He tries to jerk up and out of her hold, but a firm hand pressing him into the cushions stops his movements. The prod apparently startled her as well because she's staring wide eyed at the appendage, her hand hovering just over the junction of his shoulder blades.

"Hey!"

"Shh! Hold still before you make it worse."

Huh…

"Make what worse?"

"You're shoulder is about one false move away from being completely dislocated. Hold still so I can fix it."

He does as he's told, and by the time he feels the soft pop of his bone sliding back into its proper place he thinks he may have ground his teeth down to dull blocks. Funnily enough, though, his arm feels better.

"Okay," she breathes as her hands slip from his flesh. "You can sit up now."

Guiding his feet to the floor, he ambles into a sitting position. A cautionary roll of his right shoulder has him immediately in awe of the woman before him.

"It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Of course not. I fixed it," she giggles. Her eyes follow him as though looking for any signs of discomfort in his body as he tests out the mobility of his upper body. Everything seems to be back in working order. For that he is more than pleased. Left hand resting over the previously injured shoulder, Soul's eyes swim with a newfound respect and gratitude for the woman still kneeling by his feet.

BEEP!

"Dinner's ready!" cries the oven. Was that really twenty minutes?

"Right on time," exclaims Maka as she rises from the floor and hurries to the kitchen. The succulent flavor, a mixture of sweet and savory fish, reaches him luring him like a moth to a flame to the table. Taking the first bite… Mmmmm, he's in hog heaven. Praise rolls from his mouth between swallows while she just laughs under her breath in delight at the sight of seeing him shovel down her dinner – it's amazing she doesn't think him a pig. Great food, a most satisfying release from pain, and the person responsible for that phenomenal fact sitting across from him reminds him of a simpler time after the kishin Asura had been destroyed.

"Hey," he calls under his breath.

"Hmm?"

Sparkling emeralds slither straight to him as she delicately chews. Maka had always had an impeccable habit of being polite – at least when her temper was in check. But he's beginning to realize that this Maka possesses a near neurotic attention to detail when it comes to table manners. Her napkin rests in her lap, folded neatly to capture any stray crumbs. Her elbows never so much as graze the edge of the table. Her spine is erect, shoulders back, head tilted ever so slightly downward, eyes downcast up until this point as is proper of girls in accordance to Spanish aristocracy.

Who the hell were these doctors anyway? She sits just like he used to when he lived with his family. All protocol, black tie, white shirt. It's nearly suffocating, the grip around his collar.

"What time does your training start with Black Star tomorrow?"

"9:30, I think," she answers after swallowing, ever the lady. "Why?"

"I was wondering if I could show you something before you meet him."

"Like what?" she asks gazing at him with the utmost intrigue.

"You'll just have to come and find out."

"Well that's unfair," she hisses feigning offense.

"Oh yeah… how's that?"

He challenges her, raising an eyebrow and wiggling it hoping to incite a familiar banter between the two of them.

"You're just teasing me, and I know it."

"So what if I am?"

"Then I guess I just won't be going."

"Aww, come on, Maka. Don't be that way."

"What way?"

She says it so sweet and sugary, he fears he may find cavities forming in his teeth, but the look she gives him is almost a perfect replication of the one his meister might've given as a warning that he better choose the next couple words that come out of his mouth very, very carefully. Granted, she's being playful about it, but threat of torture is threat of torture no matter what mood she may be in.

He sighs, hiding a smile as he shakes his head to the floor.

"Just come. I promise you won't regret it."

She gives him one last cursory glare before looking away to pay more mind to her food. She eyes a piece of fish like it will answer for her if she stares at it long enough before delicately placing it in her mouth and allowing her lips to capture the leftover juices off the fork as the utensil leaves her mouth.

"I guess I'll come then."

He can't help but smirk down into his next bite. Score one for Soul.

He wonders if she realizes she said that with her mouth full.

* * *

><p>He should have known this would happen. It happened the first time she saw it all those years ago. It was déjà vu all over again, only the first time her expression might have been a bit funnier. Her pupils had dilated in a mixture of awe and fear at the prospect of riding something so large and menacing. Her eyes never wander from the roused steel as she finally comprehends what is being presented to her. Then her eyes dart quick as needles between Soul's face and his <em>muscle<em>.

"Is it safe?"

Okay this go around might be going slightly better. At least she didn't go into a rant about the statistics on motorcycle crashes and the increase probability of death and the dangers of riding without a helmet and so on and so forth etcetera, etcetera. This go around, however, they'd skipped right over that introduction straight to a most endearing question on safety.

Well he's certainly thankful for the lack of a lecture.

"Yeah," he answers.

She looks skeptical.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Maka, I promise," he laughs. "Come on already."

She's more than a little finicky about it, but she eventually accepts the graciously offered helmet and climbs on behind him as he revs up the engine and waits for the familiar feel of slim arms wrapping around his torso. When they don't manifest, he reaches behind, finds her hands (they're tensed, hanging in the air like she doesn't know what to do with them) and positions them in a comfortable embrace encircling his chest.

"Hold on tight," he warns, the biggest shit-eating grin you ever did see splitting his face as he glances back at her.

She only raises an eyebrow at him… that is until he takes off with the grind of rubber on pavement and roars onto the road with the fury of a charging rhino. She let's off the most pathetic of squeals and her grip tightens so that she's glued to his back and holding on for dear life, the wind threading through her braided hair and rustling her clothing.

It takes her a while, but she eventually calms down enough to focus on his voice of the whirling of the motor and the whistling of the wind. He's trying to relax her, jesting and making a foolery of her behavior. It works a little.

A few minutes pass, and she's actually starting to enjoy herself.

He acts as her personal tour guide as he drives around the city, taking a few detours from his ultimate destination. He's entertaining and funny. His jokes are lame and so cliché but she can't help to laugh at them. I guess that's called charisma. She wonders if maybe he should take up being a tour guide as a side job, but then she thinks maybe not as every time he makes some grand gesture with his hands, she fears she might suffer a premature heart attack.

He's just teasing, though. And as he pulls up along the outskirts of the training grounds, and he urges the bike off road into the forest paths surrounding Shibusen often used by students for hiking or biking, she wonders where they are.

"Where are we?" she asks as he kills the engine.

The motor rumbles nice and low as he pulls to a stop.

"This," he starts as he toes the kickstand down. "…Is what I wanted to show you."

He gets off the bike, offering his hand to her. She takes it. As he pulls her off the bike, he circles around behind her and clamps his hands over her eyes.

"Well don't you think you're cute," she teases.

"Oh, shut up and walk."

"Aye, aye, captain."

He guides her across the small clearing to stand in front of an old beaten up tree at the center and drops his hands. It's beautiful. The sunlight reflects around the clearing in soft bursts through the trees, drawing a haze of sunshine across the expanse. She can hear the quiet songs of the birds mixing with the shifting leaves and the tinkling of a wind chime.

"This is where we usually come to train."

In the last two years, this place had become a sanctuary for him. It's the old training grounds Maka used to always drag him to for extra practice. He may have hated this place then, but in the years since it had become a refuge for them. Yes, they had still mostly trained here, but other times they could simply lay out on the grass and bask in the sunlight and each other's presence. Maybe it would rouse some memories from Maka.

"You used to drag me here for extra practice," he adds on as she steps away to explore the setting a little. She paws at the grass with her feet, gazes up at the sky, jostles the overhanging branches, and even runs her hand along the long, scythe inflicted scars along the central tree's length. Her fingertips scrap over the carved letters of the word "EATER" in the bark of the tree, middle finger tracing each letter as though reliving a moment in time.

"I wrote this."

Just a simple statement. Nothing to get all excited about, but he can squelch the bubbling feelings of success, after all that had been the whole point of this little field trip. She made a connection. A small memory had resurfaced. Mission accomplished.

"Yeah," he answers, even though it wasn't a question, from his slouched position against the same tree. He's only about a foot away from her as she examines the jagged edges of the inscription to her heart's content. She straightens soon looking him over curiously.

What is she thinking about?

"Can I see?"

Puzzling…

"See what?"

"You're blade." She blushes as she says it. "You don't have to change completely o-or at all if you don't want to. I was just curious, is all."

"Oh, no. I don't mind." He adjusts his stance a bit so his right arm is away from the foliage and he leans on his left shoulder. A flash of light and his right arm is now a razor sharp blade, black and a shade of red in reflection of his eyes.

She approaches him, slowly reaching out a tentative hand only to freeze when he speaks.

"Be careful," he warns softly. "Don't cut yourself."

She nods at him, swallowing but allowing her hand to make contact with the blade.

It's odd, she thinks. The blade shines in the sunlight, healthy and well cared for. She can see her reflection on its face, her eyes shimmering red and pupilless in the polished metal. The weapon itself is made of steel, or at least something like it, as any normal household weapon would be, but the quality of the steel is what sets it apart in her mind.

It breathes.

The melded iron pulses with life and energy. Where none magical weapons are cold to the touch, the minerals biting and bland, Soul's weapon arm exudes a soft comforting heat much like a normal human arm would. She even feels it flex as though he's shifting his arm.

She's completely oblivious to the response she's getting from the male.

Her fingertips are cool against the heated metal as she slides her hand back and forth over the flat of the scythe, her other hand cradling the underside and pressing to feel the sharpness of the edge. His spine shivers at the touch, tiny pin-pricks of icy heat spread from where he hands touch him. It's enough to drive a man mad, but he swallows it all down, letting her do as she pleases without having to pay any mind to him. But when her fingers glide lightly over the top of the arch, he can't stifle the hushed giggle that escapes his throat.

She looks at him at the small sound.

"That kinda tickles."

She giggles at him, a hand hiding her face while the other gently lets go of his scythe, and he shifts it back into the human appendage, cocking his hand on his hip.

"I didn't realize weapons could be tickled."

"Only when their meisters get just a little too touchy feely."

"Sorry," she chuckles, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she leans up against the tree beside him. Her smile glows in the sunlight. "Well, at least now I know how to one up you."

She's so close he can smell the faint scent of her shampoo. He only just realizes that he's leaned closer to her. Just for the smell.

"Please, as if _you_ could ever gain the upper hand on me."

She relaxes her posture ever so slightly. The action brings her forehead but a hair's length away from his chin; he can feel her breath fluttering across his chest. The temptation of her skin so close to his lips is almost enough to unravel him. He clenches at looses ends trying to resist the heady desire to just reach down and taste her flesh.

"I guess not," she coos, thoughtfully like she wants to tease him but decides not to for one reason or another. Instead, big, green eyes gaze into his own as though waiting for some sort of signal to say "GO".

No, Maka, don't lean any closer. Stay where you are. Soul doesn't know yet if he has full reign over the wild bull beating away in his chest. He needs a distraction. He tries to turn his eyes away. Look somewhere. Anywhere! But he fails miserably, when a small pink tongue flicks out to moisten dry lips.

"… But I bet I could get the better of you."

Did she just…? No way. She's not seriously. A flutter of lashes. Oh, god, she is. She's flirting with him.

"Is that so?"

And apparently he's flirting back. Stop it, Soul! Be cool, remember. Just be cool! But it's Maka, why shouldn't he?

He is now at war with himself.

Angel Soul verses Devil Soul. Showdown tonight in the middle of the training fields.

"Don't do anything rash, Soul," says the angel. She may be his meister in body, but this Maka is a slumbering, delicate flower compare to _the_ Maka Albarn. Her weakness and uncertainty, she's fragile, breakable. He's almost certain that one wrong word from him could destroy her development, driving her back into her shell on reflex like some kind of turtle, when in another reality she would have just chopped his ass and been done with it. That's what he gets for being, well, an ass.

The other side though, a little devil whispering in his ear.

"She's right in front of you, stupid! So what if she's having some memories problems, she's here for Kidd's sake.(b) Go on. Ravish her! You know she wants you to."

The poisonous need to claim and take and own rushes him. Two years he's suffered through a haze of lonely nights, lying alone in a bed far too large for one person. He'd all but forgotten the feel of soft, warm, feminine skin beneath his digits up until yesterday. It was just _sooo_ tempting to allow himself to be sucked into the swirling emerald of her gaze.

And as his body stays suspended in space, caught in some strange no man's land between the north and the south Soul, Maka leans even closer, her depthless eyes disappear behind gold-tinged eyelashes, and suddenly, Devil Soul starts to win the match as his head dips down, his lips ready to capture her lips.

SNAP!

The pair nearly jump out of their own skin at the loud cracking of a tree branch not too far from them coming from somewhere in the treetops. They separate to a respectable distance apart. The little angel on Soul's right shoulder is leaping for joy while the devil to his left (which remarkably resembles little ogre) just pouts as Maka glances around, looking for the source of the disturbance no doubt. She seems to pinpoint it as she stops all movement and stares in a single direction for a whole five seconds until there drops a black and blue blur to the edge of the clearing right next to his bike, a bashful Tsubaki running up behind him.

Black Star! What the fuck!

"Soul, you bastard. Quit hogging my student!"

"I can't believe this…"

Soul feels like a brat who was just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He's seriously just been cock-blocked, whether it was on purpose or not, by his best friend, the same best friend who told him not 48 hours ago to be mindful of how physical he got with Maka – granted he said it as more of a joke than an actual warning. He doesn't know whether he should fall on in knees in gratitude to the self-proclaimed god or see just how far his foot could fit down the dumbass's throat as the ninja bounds toward him, delivering a high five.

"I thought you'd pull something like this, you sly dog."

"I don't know what you're talking about, idiot."

"Oh, is that so? I guess I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"

"N-no, of course not! We were just talking."

Maka holds her hands out in denial, but the searing rouge gracing her cheeks destroys any believability to that statement.

"Well, anyway, Maka. It's time to get to work," he announces as he struts across the clearing in a bad imitation of a rooster. "You've got a long day ahead of you and it started, oh…"

Black Star peers up at the sun as though to tell the time.

"Five minutes ago."

"What?"

Her head snaps down to her wrist, trying to find the time on her watch. Black Star's hand just nabs her around the bicep and hauls her past him in the direction of the school.

"Tsubaki, take her to the track fields and I'll meet the both of you there in a bit. We need to get started!"

Tsubaki grabs Maka by the hand and starts to pull her away after tossing him a slightly apologetic look.

"Ehh! Bye Soul!" calls Maka, suddenly finding herself at the far side of the clearing.

"See you later, Maka-! Black Star!" he growls as the younger male glomps him around the shoulders bring their faces way to close together.

"So how was your night, Mr. Bond?"

One day, Soul was going to burn the meister's eyebrows clean off. And that devilish shine in his eyes could make a seasoned call girl blush. How does Tsubaki handle this guy?

"None of your business, jerk-off."

"So you didn't get any. Aw man, Soul. I'm disappointed!"

"What the hell do you know anyway?"

"Easy, easy. I'm just pulling your leg."

"Oh yeah, well fuck off before you piss me off."

"Aw did I ruin your morning. Very smooth, Romeo. You could've probably pulled it off, too. The closing her eyes bit was a nice touch."

So the little pest had been watching the entire time and chosen that specific moment to make his presence known.

Yup, he was definitely just cock-blocked.

He pushes the dope off of him, all but dropping Black Star to the grass in a hysterical bout of laughter.

"Oh, Soul, don't take it so seriously. I wanted to talk to you ask you something."

"You already did."

"Another something then. I need you to do me a favor."

"No!" he grunts stuffing his hands into his pockets and making his way toward his bike.

"You can at least hear me out."

"Not if it has to do with another one of your stupid pranks."

He puts away the spar helmet he'd lent to Maka, kicking one leg over the seat so that he's standing one leg on either side of the cycle.

"It has to do with Maka," Black Star sing-songs.

He closes his eyes, sitting on the cushion and sighing in exasperation.

"What is it?"

"We, we're thinking about having a little "get-together" tonight to celebrate Maka's return. All you have to do is get her there."

"And where would _there_ be?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Black Star smiles sheepishly.

"Death City Pub."

He should have figured as much.

"So you're all going out drinking. That's rich."

"So you'll bring her. Great, I was afraid I would have to beat you into agreeing."

"How about, NO!" he snaps, revving the engine and kicking up the kickstand.

"Wait, wait," he shouts catching Soul's forearm. "Come on, man. You've got to bring her."

"No."

"Stingy aren't you."

Soul gives him a look.

"She won't want to go."

"So? You've dragged her places before."

This kid just wasn't getting it. So what if he didn't want to share her quite yet. That was his right. Soul simply rolls his eyes at the ninja, while his best friend scoffs at him, setting serious eyes on the white-haired male.

"Look, I get it. You've missed her, probably more than everyone else combined. But we have missed her, Soul. Everybody wants to see her."

Liquid vermillion stares into aquamarine.

"Besides, it'll be the first time _all _of Spartoi is together into two years."

Black Star's face is hopeful, and he strongly resembles an actor in an advertisement trying to sell something that will break after one use. He's looking for any signs of deceit, but finding none, he sighs in surrender.

"Fine, I'll ask her. But!" he warns, pointer finger invading Black Star's line of sight. "If she says no, I won't make her go. Clear?"

"Crystal. You ask, and when she says yes, you'll bring her."

"Whatever, Black Star, I'm not making any promises," he declares turning his bike about and toeing it toward the path before starting a slow decent.

"Hey, Soul!" yells Black Star as he start to pull away. "No need to get your panties in a twist about sharing her for a little while. You got her _alllll_ to yourself at home."

To which he promptly flips him the bird.

TBC

Thank so much for reading. The chapter came out a lot longer than I expected it to be.

Please Review! The feedback keeps me motivated.

* * *

><p>Preview for next chapter:<p>

"My god, what does everybody expect us to hump like bunnies or something? She doesn't even remember what kind of relationship we had," he huffs taking a long sip of his beer.

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><p>(a) These are lyrics to the old nursery rhyme "Pop! Goes the Weasel."<p>

(b) Hehe, get it? Instead of "for Christ's sake" it's for "Kidd's sake" 'cause Kidd is the son of god. Dadumdum ching! Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all night.


	10. Liquid Love

Author's Note: (On her hands and knees) I'M SOOO SORRY. It took way too long to update this, but I have done it. I am happy to say that my intensive is over and hopefully I will have more time to write since I'm back home. I hope you all enjoy this little gem.

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or anything by Above and Beyond.

Thank you to all my beautiful reviewers.

Remember Me

Liquid Love

"Do you think he'll bring her?"

"I don't know, Kil. It depends on her," Black Star answers Kilik taking a sip of his first beer. Just as he'd told Soul, they all met at the local pub for some drinks. Spartoi had already gathered. Tsubaki was beside him nursing a strawberry daiquiri. Ox and Harvar were dancing with Kim and Jackie. The four hadn't quite started drinking yet. Kilik was sitting on the other side of him at the bar with a gin and tonic in hand, the twins on either side of him sipping virgin piña coladas. Kidd had himself a whiskey while Liz and Patti danced. The only ones still missing were the death scythe and his meister. There was time yet for them to show. Black Star had told Soul to meet at ten. As of now, it was ten 'til the hour. More than enough time for them to show.

"You didn't work her over too hard today, did you?"

"No. It was just the first day; I gave her a bit of a test. I wanted to get a feel for her level of ability."

"How'd she do?" inquires Kim, coming up behind him with Ox at her side.

"Terrible. It took her twelve minutes to run a mile."

The collective jumble of pained noise from the surrounding meisters drove that home.

"I know," he drawled. "It's pitiful compared to what she used to do."

"Well, I'm sure we can count on you to get her back in top form," chided Ox ordering himself a beer.

"You got that right. I'll do her one better than that, actually."

"They should be here by now, shouldn't they?" asked Tsubaki.

"Just about. That is unless Soul let himself get carried away again. You should've seen what they were up to when I found them this morning."

"Black Star!"

"What? He made her late this morning, and I swear if he does it again, I'll be shoving my fist down his throat."

"Down who's throat, exactly?"

Black Star spun around in his seat in mild surprise to find his seemingly scowling best friend standing with his hands on his hips near the entrance of the bar.

"Soul! Hey, when did you walk in?"

"Just now."

"Ah, good. So where's Maka? Did you bring her?"

That's a good question right. The blonde is nowhere in sight. But like a summoning, the thin blonde walks up moments later from behind the weapon, and he helps rid her of her coat before she can been attacked by the group. He hadn't had that hard of time convincing her to come.

Upon getting home, he'd found her in the living room curled up on the couch with a book on souls in her lap. She seemed happy enough, and he couldn't see any bruises. He guessed Black Star took it easy on her for the day which kind of made sense and didn't at the same time. When he told her about the "get-together," she'd actually been all for it. She didn't even flinch when he mention that it was at a bar, and it was very likely Black Star would be trying to get her drunk before the end of the night. She'd actually scoffed at him for that. And he swears she said something to the effect of "let him try".

So here they are, dressed nicely for the evening. He's wearing a clean graphic T and dark wash jeans while she dons a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted black top.

"He brought her!" shouts Kim.

Maka soon finds herself being passed from person to person, one embrace to the other. She's introduced properly to Kilik, Ox, Harvar, Kim, Jackie, and the twins before Black Star and Kilik pry her away from the excitable Shibusen elite in the direction of the bar much to Soul chagrin.

"Black Star," he growls grabbing onto the ninja's shoulder. "You'd better not be trying to get her drunk."

"Oh, relax, Soul. You trust me, don't you?"

"Don't make me answer that."

Meanwhile, Kilik's pulled up a stool for Maka at the bar.

"Do you drink, Maka?"

She makes a face at him like he's stupid.

"I've been in Mexico for the last two years. What do you think?"

"Right on, sister. That's what I like to hear. Bartender, can I get two specials, or wait a sec… Black Star, Soul! You guys want in on this round?"

"Hell yeah."

"What round?"

"Make that, four specials, good sir."

"Coming right up."

Black Star takes a seat beside her while Soul hangs back, slightly away from the counter but behind Kilik. The bartender distributes four large glasses half filled with a mystery dark, almost black, liquid and four smaller shot glasses filled to the brim with a creamy sort of whip.

"What is this?" asks Maka, picking up the glass of dark liquid. Maka takes a sniff of the concoction. It smells bitter.

"This, my dear, is called a White Death. What you do is you take the shot." Black Star indicates the smaller shot glass. "And you drop it in the glass and chug it all down."

"That is so gross."

"No, it's good, I promise. Come on, let's do this," he passes around the drinks, setting his own on the counter. Maka accepts her pair of glasses with a grimace.

"I'm going to be so sick later."

She looks at Soul as she says this as though asking for permission. He only shakes his head at her as a way of saying it's alright.

"You'll be fine."

"Alright, everybody ready?" Nods pass around the bar. "Great. Set! 3… 2… 1… DROP!"

You know the feeling you get in your stomach like something really, really bad just happened but you're not one hundred percent sure it actually happened. Denial, I guess you could call it. Something like taking a wrong turn on a city street or missing your exit on the highway, but it takes you a couple seconds to figure it out. Or like when you're watching someone take a drink out of a glass that you know had a bug in it just a second ago but you can't stop them. Everything goes by in slow motion and there's nothing you can do to turn on the brakes.

That's how Soul feels now watching Maka, who, mind you, has never been much of a drinker, chug the comparatively gargantuan beverage with Black Star and Kilik eying her as they drink up. Even as he downs his own glass of the horrendous concoction, he can't help but feel like maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

The guys even Liz and Patti are all chanting for Maka as she continues to drink. She struggles with it a little bit, taking longer than the boys to down the drink. But Spartoi and some of the random patrons along the bar are rooting for her to "Stoke." She makes a face as she nears the end, and for a second Soul worries if he should grab a bucket in case she spits the whole thing back up. The thought is needless though; it feels like the entire bar breaks out in cheers as the featherweight kills off the last few drops of the White Death.

"Whooo!" she cries, slamming the glass onto the table.

"Alright, sister! Care for another?"

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, shaking her head 'no'.

"No thanks, Kilik. I think I'm done," she explains ordering a rum and coke to wash out the putrid flavor in her mouth.

Black Star's head pops up on the other side of Soul's shoulder.

"Aw but, Maka, you only just got here. You can't be done," he whines. Soul punches him a good one on the side of his face.

"Now, now, Black Star," chides Kilik, lifting the blue-headed meister off the floor and wrapping an arm around his neck. "The lady knows her limit. We can't expect her to handle more than a few drinks."

The arrogant putz. He sips his freshly refilled glass completely aware of the glare Maka is giving from the behind Soul.

"Are you calling me a light weight?"

"Well, you don't exactly look like a heavy weight to me, sweetheart."

"Is that so?" she sing-songs coyly, taking a sip of her drink. She eyes him over the rim of her glass before holding it out as though in a toast. She leans around Soul getting into the muscular male's face. Challenge glitters in her eyes, sparkling amidst sly emeralds. "Last one to empty their glass has to run around the bar naked."

Kilik doesn't bother to hold back a laugh.

"You really think you can beat me."

"I know I can."

"Well, aren't we confident. Alright then. I'll take your challenge. Soul, you ref!"

"What!"

"Woohoo! Maka's gonna be running around the bar naked!" cheers Patti.

"No! I don't approve of this." Soul can admit, he sounds like a mothering hen as he says it.

"Aw, chill out Soul. Let her learn her lesson," shouts Black Star giving him a heavy slap on the back.

Maka and Kilik clink glasses. The blonde doesn't look even remotely perturbed or even intimidated by the male she's in contest with. The knowledge that everyone is automatically rooting against her doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. In fact, her lips arch up in the most sinister of grins.

"3…2…1…GO!"

Both contestants raise their glass to their lips.

_Swiss. Splash._

Maka empties her glass into the nearby drain on the other side of the counter, slamming down the now empty glass with a heavy clank. Kilik freezes mid gulp.

"What the? Did you?"

Confusion. Complete and total confusion emits from the black male. Maka just smiles

"I never said you had to drink it, did I?"

Soul just grins down between the pair, pride shining in his deep crimson eyes for the girl that never did go back on her word. Maka was just way too smart for her own good sometimes.

"That's not fair!"

Shell-shocked and officially awestruck, Kilik doesn't seem to understand that he just lost… miserably. The troubled meister looks back and forth between Soul, Black Star and Maka. He obviously forgot how much of a sneaky little fox Maka could be when she got competitive.

"Did she just…?"

"I think she did."

"Awww, shit!"

Patti and Black Star are laughing out a steady stream of "strip, strip, strip" to Kilik. For a second Soul wonders if he'll go through with the punishment game for losing, but Kilik's a good sport. He grabs at the hem of his shirt, giving Maka a sportsman-like mid-five.

"Girl, it's good to have you back."

Maka smiles.

"Thanks, Kil. Just don't forget, the legal drinking age in Mexico is eighteen. I know all the tricks of the trade."

"Hmm, I'll have to take notes then. Later."

And with that, the man's pants are dropped and he's off taking his round about the bar. Liz, Patti, and Jackie hoot and holler at the naked male, Black Star throwing in the stray cat-call every once in a while. But Maka's face just flairs bright red and she buries herself into Soul's chest while he just laughs it all up. He takes the opportunity to wrap and arm around her waist. Maybe tonight wouldn't turn out so badly, after all.

* * *

><p>Shibusen students are always a rowdy bunch. Just ask the regular bartender. Though most of them are underage, they get the treatment of military personnel which allows them to drink publicly without need to worry for the consequences. Throw in a reason to celebrate and some alcohol and things will dive straight into insanity. Especially, when Spartoi is involved. Yes, they were the best in their class, be it in skill, grade, success, or strength. No one could argue that. The DWMA's finest - the group that defeated the kishin, Asura, and in doing so saved the planet from mass hysteria, literally. But you could easily forget that once the group got some of the hot liquid in them.<p>

I guess those who fight hard, party hard.

During the two hours Soul and Maka had spent at the pub, things had escalated into shear chaos and were just now beginning to unwind. Happenings consisted of but were not limited to: Liz dancing on the bar, shots, arm wrestling contests (you would've never guessed Patti could beat Kilik), more embarrassing nudity, karaoke, shots, games of pool – well, if you can call Black Star whacking some stranger over the head with a pool stick a game, Kidd getting wasted, not so innocent escapades to the bathroom (Ox, Kim, you should be ashamed of yourselves), and more shots.

Soul, who's only downed a few of beers and the stray shot so far, is having a pretty good time. It reminds him of the old days, except this time he's keeping a closer eye on Maka. After that first drink, Black Star made it his mission to insure that Maka became effectively wasted in as short amount of time as possible. He makes sure there is a drink in her hand at all times, and between refills, Kilik or Liz or Black Star would talk her and Soul into a round of shots. The drinks are just enough to relax the white-haired male but he knows he's driving home, so he takes it easy just watching Maka and waiting for the sign that says, "Time to Go."

It should be arriving shortly, he thinks.

Maka, on the other hand, has more than proven her right to be offended at being labeled a light-weight. She could keep her wits about her, that's for sure. Despite the amount of alcohol Black Star has managed to introduce to her system, she is still fully coherent. As of yet, she only looks a little more than halfway to drunk. She spends most of her time dancing with the girls, only approaching the bar to either talk to Soul or get a refill herself. This last time however, he can't help but notice the alcohol starting to take its effect. Her speech is a little slurred and she's a little less deliberate in her movements. He's thankful she didn't get another refill.

She looks fine while she's dancing with the girls, though. She looks better than fine actually. She looks like a downright knockout. The way her hips move to the beat of the music, classy with just a hint of sexuality thrown in the mix. He hisses, it's enough to catch his attention and keep it for hours on end.

Unfortunately, it's not just his attention it's grabbing.

Some big guy on opposite end of the bar has been openly leering at the girls for the past half hour. Soul's kept a close eye on him, but the giant husk of a man hasn't said or done anything to incite his call for action. He's just been drinking it up with his much smaller buddy, minding his own business. Until now, that is.

"Hey, Ray. You see that girl over there?"

"Which one, the short busty blonde?"

"Nah, dude. The taller, darker blonde wearing the skinny jeans. Ain't she _fine_?"

Soul's eyes narrow. The oaf's finger is pointing in Maka's direction.

"I don't know, man. She's a bit skinny, don't you think?"

"Nah, man, she got a damn fine pair of legs. Bet she's flexible too. I wonder what kind of positions I can pull off with that one."

Bloodlust shines from deep mauve at the male, who is completely unaware of the death warrant he's slowly but surely signing. Soul can feel the enamel of his teeth chipping, he's so angry. Ox, who's sitting next him, places a wary hand on the scythe's shoulder, trying to distract Soul's attention from the obnoxious perverts behind them.

"Soul, it's not worth it. Just let it go."

"Would you let it go if he was talking about Kim?" he snarls. Ox can only gap at him, so there is complete silence between the pair at the bar when the drunkard's friend speaks.

"Dude, don't bother. All the good girls are either cuffed or uninterested."

"Oh, I'll cuff her alright. I'll tie her up so tight she'll be begging me to give it to her."

That's it!

Soul gets up out of his chair, fist clenched, eyes ablaze, ready to engrave some manners into this guys skulls despite Ox's, and now Harvar's, shouted protests. But he pauses.

Thud!

Black Star's open palm lands heavily on the lewd patron's shoulder before Soul can even venture a step forward.

"How's it going fellas?"

"Not bad, and yourself?" answers drunkard's friend.

"Glad to hear it. I'm doing quite well. Lots of beautiful women in the bar tonight. Wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, hell yeah," says drunkard. "We were just picking out our catches for the night."

"We?" deadpans the friend, rolling his eyes and taking a swing of his beer ready to ignore the rest of the conversation taking place beside him.

"That so… Well, now, you see that pretty little blonde over there?" Black Star gestures to the Spartoi girls.

"Oh, yeah. Hard not to notice that one."

"Yup, that's the one. Gorgeous, isn't she?"

The guy just nods, now a little wary as to where this conversation is going.

"Ya think so? Hell of a bang, wouldn't you say? Don't you just want a piece of that ass?"

Soul swears Black Star should be able feel the burn or his glare from across the bar. Poor soul perception or not, you'd have to be a complete dunce to not feel the killing intent radiating off of Soul at that moment. He obviously doesn't take too kindly to his best friend talking about his meister is such a fashion. The ninja in question only flashes him a winning smile and a thumbs up, doing absolutely nothing to ease the scythe's rising temper.

"Fuck yeah, man! I'd like to see what I could do with those legs. Why? You going for her?" dumbass laughs, thinking Black Star a pal with similar intentions.

"Hehehe… Fuck yeah, huh?" Black Star grins menacingly at the male, his grip tightening, fingers squeezing the pressure point at the juncture of his neck. The guy has to hold back a wince at the pain that racks his arm and shoulder. "What's your name, man?"

"J. B. Gatz," he cringes out.

"Well, J.B.," he growls. J.B. squirms in pain. "That's my little sister you're talking about, and if I so much as catch you looking at her one more time you'll be eating your own balls for breakfast. Understand?"

"Y-yeah, n-no problem."

"Great!"

Black Star's face splits into a wide smirk, and he slams the palm of his hand hard enough into J.B.'s back to make his head ricochet off the bar counter. The friend just looks on taking another slow sip of his beer as Black Star meanders back over to Soul and the rest of the guys.

"Thanks, I owe you one," offers Soul to a laughing Black Star.

"Hardly a big deal. Gods like me look after their disciples. Besides the last thing anybody needs is for you to get into a bar fight," declares the self-proclaimed deity slapping a hand on Soul's shoulder.

"Sure, oh, great one."

The scythe just rolls his eyes. He's so done with this scene.

"Ya know, if you don't want people eying her, you could always go dance with her," inserts Black Star, giving the fuming male a nudge and a scandalous wink.

"Nah, Kidd's out there already."

"He's dancing with Liz and Patti. I told _you_ to dance with Maka."

Soul shakes his head, kills off his drink, and slams the glass down on the table.

"You know what, I think I will, and after, I'm gonna grab Maka and head out. This place is getting way too crowded."

"Aw, come on, Soul. Maka's not even completely drunk yet."

"And I don't mind keeping her that way," he clips out, walking toward where the girls are still dancing, completely unaware of the events taking place among the men.

"Party pooper!" calls Black Star from behind him, and he can't help but laugh at the assassin's antics. Soul wonders if he might be on the receiving end of one of Black Star's stink eyes.

* * *

><p>Maka's had a pretty good night. She has downed a couple drinks – okay more than a couple – and has a nice feel-good buzz churning through her system. She doesn't think she's drunk quite yet though and is still debating whether or not she wants to wake up with a hangover tomorrow, but that's something she can think about when she gets back to the bar after this next song. Right now she and the girls (and Kidd at the moment) are dancing amidst a stifling amount of writhing, sweaty bodies, trying to stay nearby each other, and failing at it.<p>

But she's having a blast.

A kind of chaperoning system they must have worked out over the years to make sure the girls weren't taken advantage of, the guys come and go at their own pace, one always replacing the previous should there only be one out. It's like they were working in shifts, observes Maka. It's funny but effective. It makes sure the women are never without a dash of testosterone to play with, and it keeps the perverts away. They would disguise their intentions of course, often bringing with them drinks and shots, they being Black Star, but the girls couldn't be fooled. They'd been playing this game for years. If anything, they more often than not appreciated the gesture – though Kim would never admit she liked having a man around. And the system worked quite nicely. As of yet, none of them had been groped, grabbed, or even ogled inappropriately. In retrospect, the ladies would venture over to the men every so often for flirting with the appropriate boyfriend or to drag said boyfriend to the dance floor.

The only male on the floor at the moment is Kidd, who might I add is completely plastered on account of Liz. Apparently when you get enough alcohol into a shinigami's system, they revert back to old habits. He's currently trying to orchestrate a perfectly symmetrical three-way tango much to Liz's headache and Patti's drunken entertainment. However, if one can guess anything from the incessant gyrating, the three weren't pulling apart any time soon.

Maka wonders who will be coming out next to play with the girls.

Soul, maybe? He's the only one who hasn't come out onto the dance floor with them. She's kind of disappointed about that. She wants to dance with him before they leave for the night, but she doesn't have to guts to actually go up to him and ask.

Instead, she dances with Tsubaki, the pair taking subtle cues from the music as they move gently while making idle conversation. One thing Maka enjoyed about going to bars or pubs like this as opposed to night clubs was that the music didn't blare so loud in a place like this. You could have an easy conversation with the person you were dancing with without having to go home with a sore throat. She and the weapon never run out of conversation, or rather they never run out of questions, bringing up all sorts of things: Mexico, books, music, Black Star, the Academy. The two have fallen back into familiar territory – well familiar to Tsubaki, Maka just feels completely comfortable with the other girl, a fact Tsubaki knows but is more than willing to overlook because she's dancing with her best friend for the first time in Lord knows how long.

Tsubaki is so happy she could cry. The time she spends with Maka has always had a freeing effect on her. Moments like these make her forget things she knows she should be worrying about. Like the monstrous hang over Black Star's going to have in the morning or that she really should pull Patti off of Kidd's backside, maneuvers like that could leave a mark. It even slips her mind that her best friend is still suffering from a severe case of amnesia. It's like the last two years never happened, and they're teenagers again just enjoying themselves amidst all the mischief and ruckus of their friends. She wishes it could last forever.

But the time draws to a close as Tsubaki feels a prod from her meister. Suddenly she's more than aware of the tension shrouding the boys. The shadow scythe raises an eyebrow at Black Star's act of almost murdering another patron. Still dancing with Maka, she prods over the link, curious as to what's going on, but he merely assures her that everything is fine, and he'll explain later.

Ever the patient woman she is, she can accept that answer, returning her attention to an inquiring Maka. Something about how long she and Black Star had been together. She answers easily enough, but Maka's next question falls on preoccupied ears as Tsubaki notices an interruption heading their way, granted he's not a wholly unwelcome interruption but an interruption just the same.

"Tsubaki?"

Maka's a bit confused as the taller woman pulls away from her, tossing an explanation that she's going to go check on Black Star, and disappears into the surrounding crowd without answering Maka's question.

"Sorry, Maka, gotta go! Black Star's calling."

But she swears she didn't hear anything. Must be a weapon/meister thing.

The blonde deflates from her previous high in exasperation, about to go find where Kim and Jackie have gone, when a hand lands on her hip.

"Hey!" a cool voice hums in her ear.

She spins around wildly, eyes wide with surprise.

"Easy, easy. It's just me."

"Soul!" she giggles. "You surprised me."

"Sorry," he mumbles, looking appropriately abashed for several seconds. He scratches behind his head, nervous, as his hand at her hip pulls her a tad closer to him. His eyes seem to plead for her while a fresh tune cascades from the loud-speakers.

"What do you say we finish this song and then head home for the night?" he asks, placing his other hand at her hip tentatively.

She smiles up at him, glancing back at the clock hanging from the wall over his shoulder trying to figure out the time. It felt late, but she can't tell. Should she be worried that she's apparently lost that particular ability? Maybe it _is_ about time to be heading back.

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him and lifting her head up so he can hear her better. He shivers as her lips brush against the exposed skin of his neck.

"Sssounds good to me."

The song is a low pulsing beat, ethereal and intimate. The bass seeps into her body as she turns her back to him, her hips hypnotizing in the rhythm as they sway back and forth. Soul is entranced by her. His hands on her hips, he falls into the pulse behind her, moving with her gently. His hands are tentative and shy on her body as if he's unsure if can really touch her or not. He dances with her slowly, carefully ever mindful of her personal space. It's sweet of him, she thinks, but she grows tired of his chivalry quickly.

She knows she playing with fire, but the amount of alcohol in her system not only clouds her judgment but there's a reason they call it liquid courage. So, throwing all doubt and reason to the wind, she places her hand over his and pulls ever so slightly.

"Soul…"

It's more of a request, not an actual action, and she wonders if he'll even respond to her advance. The familiar heat of her hand over his sparks something in his core to shift. The change is immediate. Her senses roll, and she develops this hyperawareness of him. She not all that close to him, but he's a wall of fire behind her. And when his grip on her tightens without any need for permission, she thinks maybe she's stepped into dangerous waters.

She feels it. The shift. His energy has spiked, modulating to something different yet strangely welcoming to her senses. The knowledge of what it is hides from her in the deepest recesses of her mind just out of her reach, but it's on the tip of her tongue. If only she could just… Just what, exactly? She can't even tell the time off a clock. What hope does she have of solving this riddle? Why is she even bothering to? It's too raw, too intense. Too fucking fantastic to over think.

"Stop thinking, Maka." Apparently Soul senses her befuddlement. "Stop thinking and just feel me."

He's a lot closer to her than she remembers, his voice chiming directly into her ear. Close enough so that the solid wall of his chest brushes against her shoulder blades spreading a fever throughout her whole body.

"Stop thinking and respond to me."

The way he says it… It's more of a plea than a command, like her next response could make or break him entirely. Something is about to happen, and it is entirely up to her whether she allows it or not.

"Please, Maka. Will you let me lead?"

Her response is hesitant, unsure and fearful of what might happen. But something inside her, the same something that burns for this man and elicits her to nights of sweltering fantasy, implores her to trust him.

So she does.

"Okay…"

And she lets go, sinking deeper into Soul's arms. His limbs find a warm home across her stomach in a loose embrace, the digits of her right hand interlacing with his left. Her metamorphosis is not so paramount as Soul's was. It's slower, more exploratory. She slips into it much the same way she sank into Soul's arms, testing the waters, allowing the new frequency to wash over her. She all but visualizes the gears turning in a different direction, falling into line in a pattern that should be foreign to her. It isn't.

Without thought, they move. Maka eyes slide shut as the energy courses in, over and around her. It's not something you would describe as powerful, more like a soft tingling sensation along her skin, but it whispers of potential for far greater things. Like what they are exercising at the moment is a fundamental to something so much deeper. It's only a tiny seed with the capabilities of blossoming into something absolutely colossal with its destructive force. Omnipotent and unearthly. Some great connection only the two of them could create together.

The two are closer now, able to feel each other's body heat as they sway back and forth, all alone in a sea of strangers. Like an out of body experience, she watches as her left hand reaches across her own chest to rest on Soul's shoulder as she angles her body toward the cool death scythe and rests her head against his chest.

Half-lidded rubies meet jades.

"Soul?" Her voice sounds strange even to her own ears – husky and breathless, deeper.

"Hmm…"

He arches a snow-white brow at her.

"What is this?"

He chuckles at her. My god, it's the sexiest sound she's ever heard.

"Our wavelengths," he starts tightening his hold on her. His face a sparse few inches from her own. "…are in sync."

He sounds giddy about this announcement, though she doesn't quite grasp the concept yet. He's exceedingly pleased with himself at the moment, and she doesn't want to rain on his parade.

She doesn't realize that they're being scrutinized.

There's not a member of Spartoi around who isn't watching them, completely understanding of the linking of souls taking place. Soul's calling out for his meister's wavelength, and by the looks of things, it's going quite well.

"So then, are we resonating?"

She looks down. Her breath flutters along his Adam's apple.

"In a way, yes. This is a basic connection. Every weapon/meister pair can do this."

He turns her toward him fully, a hand underneath her chin guaranteeing eye contact.

"I know, it feels a little strange at first, but you'll get used to it again."

She shakes her head.

"It doesn't feel strange. It feels…" _like home._ She finishes the thought to herself. She pulls herself out of her thoughts, looking back up at Soul's unblinking eyes.

"So this is a beginning?"

He laughs again, his low exhales ruffling through her bangs. His cheek is warm against her forehead and she leans up and into his touch, her lips hovering only about an inch or so from his own.

_They kiss. It's sloppy and laced with heightened emotion. Soul's hands have moved to various parts of her body, on buried in the material of her blouse while the other has weaved itself into one of her pigtails._

_Maka is livid. She's shocked, too. She's livid and shocked all at the same time. She's livid but at the same time shock freezes her body. Good thing for Soul because her latest novel was a good two seconds away from crashing into his skull for the umpteenth time in the last week. She swears, they've been fighting like a pair of rabid dogs for the last two days. The tiniest things could set either one of them off these days._

_She blames Soul for it. He was the one to start this whole drama when two days ago he'd come at her out of nowhere spouting all sorts of nonsense about how stupid she was for accepting a date from one of their classmates. Needless to say, she ended up not taking the date. But that didn't stop either one of them from being moody and foul tempered in the days following._

_Their latest argument, the subject of which she doesn't even remember anymore, started in the library, much to Maka's embarrassment and the gossip chain's delight. Voices were raised and people started staring. Then the whispers started. Fed up and flustered, Maka had stormed out, unwilling to be anywhere within the vicinity of her weapon. _

"_Soul! I don't know what your problem is, but when you figure it out, I'll be more than Happy to hear it!"_

"_And where do you think __**you're**__ going?"_

"_Away from you!"_

_Imagine her irritation when he decided to follow her out, yelling all the way to the lockers where he stomps in front of her blocking her exit._

"_Get out of my way, Soul!" she growls out, her fingers just itching to reach for her book._

"_You want to know what my problem is, Maka!"_

"_Yes, I want to know!"_

"_My __**problem**__, Maka, is you!"_

"_Why You- Mmmph!"_

_And thus she finds herself in the position she's in now, slammed up against the lockers with her weapon's enflamed body pressed flush against hers. Never in a million years would she imagine her first kiss would go anything like this. One second they had been arguing like there was no tomorrow; the next this happens._

_Soul, her weapon, her death scythe, Mr. Cool Guy himself, has not only enticed her into a heated lip-lock, but he's somehow managed to make her lose all sense of direction and self in the span of one second. Her eyes are shut; they have been for a while. She's forgotten where they are. She doesn't know how long they stay like that, and she's only half aware of Soul's hand starting to wander lower down her torso into the small of her back. But there's this minute burning feeling starting to manifest in her chest. It speaks of a necessity that if she doesn't take soon, she'll find herself passed out on the floor._

_Oh, yeah. Oxygen!_

_She pulls away just long enough to get a good gulp of air into her lungs before his lips continue their assault. She wants so badly to just let him have his way, but she now has even oxygen in her brain to remember she's supposed to be mad at him._

"_Soul!"_

"_What, Maka?" he snaps back._

_His face is red, be it from his previous anger or the effects of their kiss, she doesn't know, though she might be about to find out. And judging by the way he's looking at her, she's just as red in the face as he is, if not more so._

"_Where the heck do you get off pulling something like that?"_

"_Oh hoho, don't go acting all high and might now, Miss. Prude. You liked it and you know it."_

"_Really, and here I thought you were too cool to bother going for girls with no sex appeal."_

"_Well, see, that's why your tits are so small. You think too much."_

"_MAKAAA..CHO-!"_

_He blocks the attack, much to both their surprise, and uses her momentum to pull her back towards him and into the opposite wall, where they engage in another heated make out session. Soul's hand starts to glide up and under her white top while her fingers tangle in his already mused hair._

"_What's going on here?"_

"_OW!"_

_Maka yanks herself away from Soul, putting a good two feet between them and pulling the scythe's hair in the process._

"_Nothing, Professor Stein. Soul and I were just settling an argument."_

_The doctor looks understandably skeptical._

"_Is that what that was? Well then, I might advise you take your little reconciliation somewhere – umm how should I put this – less public. We wouldn't want your father getting the way now, would we?"_

"_Yes, sir…" Maka mumbles out as the elder meister walks away from the pair and into a nearby classroom. Hearing a chuckle behind her, Maka sets murderous eyes on her seemingly entertained partner._

"_This is all your fault," she snaps moving past him and stamping on his feet along the way to leave the sputtering scythe in the dust._

"_My fault?"_

"_Yes, your fault!"_

"_As if! You were all over me."_

"_Well you started it. If it wasn't for you in the library, we wouldn't have…" She trails off as Soul's arm wraps around her waist. He delivers a swift peck to her lips, and he leans in close to her ear._

"_Why don't we finish this discussion at home?" he asks sweetly, parting from her and heading towards the front doors. She doesn't buy that tone of voice. Very unSoul-like and highly inappropriate. _

"_Fine," she deflates, watching her weapon as he knocks the door open with his foot flashing her the biggest smirk she's ever seen on his face._

"_Good, 'cause now that I've found a good way to shut you up, I might actually win this argument."_

_And he's out the door fast as lightning, Maka on his heels swiftly as death on a kishin._

The music fades out and the rush of applause to the DJ snaps them out of their trance. They are breathing each other's air they're so close, lips only millimeters apart. Soul blinks out of his daze and retreats to a respectable distance. Maka feels a sharp twang in her chest as his touch vacates her body, and things get awkward really quick between them.

Soul looks like he doesn't know what to do with his hands and Maka's just silently trying to force down her blush. Then she remembers the agreement they'd come up with before their little soul sway together.

"Let me grab my purse, and we can get out of here."

He grunts into his hand. Stay cool, Soul.

"Right, I'll get our jackets. Meet me at the entrance," he declares, and they separate in opposite direction to their assigned tasks. Completely unaware of the attention they'd drawn during their, ehem, slow dance and the eyes that followed Maka as she picked up her bag and bid goodnight to their friends giving out hugs and promises of spending time together.

* * *

><p>He let her out of his sight for one fucking second. He swears it. He'd gone to grab their coats, just as he said he would, and say goodbye to Black Star and the rest. He even looks over to make sure she's there before he says goodbye. Having already said her goodbyes, she stands at the entrance of the bar just as he'd asked of her. One second she's fine, patiently waiting for the weapon to come over to her, the next she has some asshole grinding up on her backside.<p>

And shit does he see red.

She's trying to push the creep off her, but this guy just isn't taking the hint. A turn of the drunk's head, and Soul is able to recognize him as J.B. Gatz. The same fuck-wad Black Star saved Soul from having to pummel into the ground for his loose tongue. Guess, he didn't get the message the first time.

Soul pushes his way over, and the moment the man's meaty fingers wrap around Maka's wrist in an attempt to force the inebriated girl out the front door, Soul's fist makes a sound acquaintance with J.B. cheekbone. The crack of shattered bone is quite satisfying to Soul's ear, and the pitiful whimpers Gatz is letting are more than retribution for the talentless human's offense.

"Soul, you-!"

He ignores her, pushing her jacket onto her shoulders and steering her out the door. She shouts her outrage at him all the way back to the apartment. He just tunes her out in favor of sulking to himself on how uncool it is to hit a drunk while simultaneously basking in an irresponsible load of masculine pride. Yes, he'd punched a guy, but he'd been defending his woman's honor, god damn it.

"You didn't have to do that. I had everything under control. What the hell is wrong with you?" Etc. etc.

It isn't until the door closes behind them, that he finally registers what she's been ranting and raving about all this time. She putters about the place still going off at the mouth. The scene is eerily familiar to Soul. She acting so Maka-like, it's painful for him to watch without laughing. She embodies every bit of your typical Maka on a rage, and he finds himself completely enthralled with her, unable to move from the threshold despite the fact that her incessant yelling is giving him a headache. If he'd wanted a hangover, he would have drunk more.

"Maka!" he calls out stepping into the living room where her soap box is currently located.

She whirls around on him, and he can't hold back the laughter anymore.

"It's not funny! What if he decides…!"

She's drunk – excuse me – halfway drunk, shouting about like a crazy woman and looking entirely too delectable in her anger to his alcohol hazed thought processes. He always did like riling her up. Mind now made up, he throws caution to the wind an approaches.

"Maka," he laughs, getting a firm hold around her waist. "Shut up."

"Don't tell me to- Mmmph!"

Don't ask him why he did it. He honestly doesn't know. Maybe it's because he hopes she won't remember it in the morning or the liquid calm polluting his bloodstream. Hell, maybe the reminiscent feeling of that flashback they'd shared has gone to his head. The set up is achingly familiar to the first time he'd done this with her. She _was_ just yelling at him after all, granted he hadn't been fighting back. And now in an effort to cease her meaningless babbling, he engages her in a kiss. He doesn't expect anything to come of it. Just a chaste peck to quiet her down and then he would disappear into his quarters. But Soul's plans never work out.

Her lips move against his, and the barely-there moan the sounds out of the back of her throat only keeps him there all the longer. It feels fantastic. He's had dreams about doing this (among other things) again for way too long.

Just like their first, this one is sloppy but a bit more restrained on the emotional side. In the beginning at least. Neither of them pulls away for an astonishing period of time. Oh, the wonders of breathing in through one's nose. If anything they press closer and closer to each other until Maka's stumbling backwards and into the soft cushions of the couch, and he has no choice but to follow because her hands have established a death grip in his hair.

Red-faced and limbs flailing, he doesn't know what to do. In a split-second decision, he decides that he most definitely does not want to crush her, so his hands shoot out to find support from the arms of the couch. But his elbows quack at her next actions. She releases his lips only to attack his neck. She's feisty. That's the way she's always been. She was intense on the battlefield, feisty in the bedroom. It was the way things always had been, so it shouldn't come as any surprise to him when she nips at the skin just below his ear.

The action drives a rather unmanly squeak to escape his lips. Where'd he put his man-card this time, he wonders.

"Ma-Maka."

"Yes, Soul?" she whispers her lips leaving butterfly kissing in their decent down to his collarbone.

"Maka, stop. You don't know what you're doing."

"Sure, I do."

She bites him again, right where his clavicles meet. Ah, that one's gonna leave a mark. Her fingers have released his hair and are now finicking with the buttons of his shirt. This is not good. This is sooo not good.

"Maka!" he tries again.

"Soul!" she whines back to him when his hands capture hers to pin them to the couch. He looks anywhere but down to her and tries in vain to ignore the growing arousal in his too tight jeans. And when her squirming body brushes against him, it takes all his will power to just grit his teeth and bear it rather than react and do something they'll both regret in the morning.

"Settle down, Maka." He just holds her, and she finally settles back stilling under his confinement. He heaves a huge sigh of relief.

"You're not yourself right now, and I think maybe the alcohol has had a bit more of an effect on your thought processes than I originally thought."

She doesn't respond. Her breathing slowly evening out.

"I think we've both done enough for the night and it's probably best that we just go to bed, and in the morning, if you want to talk about it we can. What do you say, Maka?"

Still no response.

"Maka?" he calls, venturing a glance down.

What he sees has him pummeling face first off of the couch. She wasn't listening to a word he'd said. How does he know this? Simple.

Because on the couch lies a very much asleep blonde.

TBC

Please Review!

Sorry, I had a bit of a squabble with my doc manager and ended up deleting Ch. 10. So I had to repost it. Sorry about that.


	11. Pins and Needles

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater. Nor do I own the Birthday Massacre – My god I use their music way too much. They are just so fabulous.

Author's Note: Hey we're back. Thank you so much for all of the beautiful reviews; you guys have been a true inspiration to take this fic to the next level.

Remember Me

Pins and Needles

He is late. He's late, and he knows it. He promised Maka that morning that he was going to watch her training today. It was going to be an easy day of no real training for him, and he's be rather curious as to how much progress she's made in the last week and a half of Black Star's tutelage. Never mind that she told him not to because all he would bear witness to was her getting her ass handed to her by Black Star, he'd still promised. He said he'd pop in around 2:30. Now it's about 3:15, and he's still in the death room listening Stein drone on and on about some nonsense or other. He's late and it's all thanks to a certain stitched up professor storming into the death room with a hot-off-the-press mission report from Spirit in his hand.

His superior is overly emotional, as always. Though in this case, Soul can't find it in his heart to blame him. Apparently, the redhead almost died of glee upon hearing of Maka's resurrection, and he absolutely positively cannot _wait _to return home and see his little girl again, but he is most regretful to inform them that he will be unable to fly back for another week or so due to the stickiness of the situation he's trying to settle in… some African city whose name Soul couldn't be bothered to remember.

Even now, Soul stands bored out of his mind, wishing for the professor to wrap things up so he can get the heck out of that circular room. He doesn't know whether it's because the man is a teacher or a doctor or maybe both but the man is incredibly long winded.

Soul can proudly say that he's never fallen asleep on his feet before, but Stein seems hell bent on establishing such an occurrence as the white-haired male's eyes slowly begin to feel heavier and heavier. And they're closing. Slowly but surely, they're closing.

"Soul?"

Aforementioned scythe perks up to attention.

"Yes, Lord Death?"

"Is something on your mind?"

He scratches the back of his head – he really needs to break that habit.

"N-no, not at all," he speaks, hastily. Shinigami-sama and Stein aren't buying it though, and he knows it. "Well, kind of. I promised Maka I'd watch her training with Black Star today."

"Oh, I see. You must be anxious to see how she's doing."

He looks away from the mask, more than a little self-conscious about it.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, there isn't much for you to do here. Why don't you go ahead and keep that promise. I hear they usually train in the dojo at this time of day."

Soul's left eye twitches in mild surprise. This was odd.

"No, really. I insist. Go ahead. You were only supposed to be here til 2 o'clock anyway."

"Alright."

He starts the trek across the platform to the door.

"Thanks," he adds, opening the door to leave.

"You're welcome, Soul."

And with a soft click the door shut behind a head of snow white hair. Shinigami-sama couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief at the scythe's departure. Stein, who is still in the room lights a cancer stick, puffing out a translucent cloud of smoke before speaking.

"Do you think he suspects something?"

"Not yet. He's unable to access my thoughts during resonance, so it's unlikely, but I will need to tell him."

"Spirit will be back soon. Why don't you tell him and Maka then?"

"That sounds like a plan, but I want her to be able to understand the situation. Speaking of which, how is her memory coming along?"

"Comparatively, not good. She's regained a few memories, but I was hoping she would have made more progress by now. Her soul just refuses to wake back up."

"Any idea what might be hindering it?" The reaper has to squash down any irritation he might harbor at Stein blowing another ring of smoke his way. He's been making a lot of those since he figured out how.

"I might. Her soul has set up a personal barrier from Maka's mind and body. I'm fairly certain that's what is keeping her memories locked up and inaccessible. If only we could find some way to make the barrier drop."

Shinigami-sama heaves a deep thoughtful sigh, the base of his mask cradled between his thumb and pointer finger.

"I'm afraid that is something only Maka can do."

* * *

><p>When Black Star said he would oversee Maka's training, he meant it. Not only that but she swears he's using it as the ultimate payback for whatever the heck she did to him in the past. Course, he says it's for her own good, which doesn't seem like much of a lie, but she can't shake the feeling that this is some sort of divine cosmic joke with her acting as its butt. I don't know. Maybe she should have stayed in better shape in Mexico. Either that or this Black Star character is the king of overdoing something to the tenth power<p>

Every morning begins with physical conditioning. He has her run two miles minimum, perform 100 push-ups (how she managed that, she has no idea), weight training, more running, crunches, sit-ups, planks, flexibility exercises she didn't know she was capable of completing, suicides and finally rock wall climbing.

That was _all_ before noon.

After a light lunch – she doesn't dare eat anything more than a protein rich salad with fruit on the side for fear of throwing up again – is combat training. He has her doing everything from hand to hand maneuvering, defensive techniques, tumbling in the gymnastics room, and one on one sparing. "Weapon training comes later," she'd been told by her blue-haired coach when she asked one day not so long ago. Until then, it is all about physical ability and fitness. And she has yet to land a single hit on him while she, on the other hand, goes home covered in aches and bruises. The training borders on abuse. If you don't believe her ask Soul – he's the one who's been bandaging her up for the last week and a half. _A week and a half _of Black Star's torture. Just her poor, little, too-skinny self and the hyper-active, boundless pool of energy Black Star all alone working to get her back into fighting shape.

But every so often Death the Kidd would pop in for the day to give Maka some pointers. Today is one of those days.

Soul enters the dojo to the sound of Maka and Black Star sparring. Kidd is on the sidelines giving encouragement to the recovering meister. Liz, Patti, and Tsubaki are sitting up in the bleachers watching the spar quietly – or at least two of them are, the third is doing her nails (you win a cookie if you can guess who). Kidd sends him a nod in acknowledgement of the death scythe's presence as Soul finds a seat next to Tsubaki and returns the gesture before addressing the chain scythe to his right.

"How's she doing?" he asks as he watches Maka deliver a hitch kick. Just watching it inspires a crooked half smile from him. Her form is almost as good as it used to be, but the move is still easily dodged by Back Star.

Tsubaki smiles.

"She's doing a lot better, Black Star's barely even holding back anymore."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, the only thing he keeps in check anymore is how he uses his soul wavelength."

Soul can't help but allow the pleasure to flood his system at that. It means she's made immense progress in just the week she's been back. Lord Death had made more than a good choice when he'd allowed Black Star to oversee this portion of her training/reintegration. Soon enough it would be time for him to step in and take his role in her training. He sits back content to watch the remainder of the spar.

Black Star is raining down an assault of punches and kicks on Maka, and she is doing an impressive job of blocking and dodging away from the powerful ninja. Ducking under another punch, she places her hands flat on the mat and spins on her left foot with her right leg extended, successfully tripping the tool meister. In response, he rolls backwards to easily regain his footing. Death the Kidd gives a cheer at the maneuver.

"That's right, Maka! You're doing well; now try for a right hook."

She does as he says, her fist landing perfectly in Black Start's open palm giving him the perfect opportunity to flip her onto her back. Well that was a mistake. As she lies on the mat, she can't help but be overcome with the strangest sense of déjà vu she's ever had. Why does it feel like this has happened before? She doesn't know, so she lies there for several moments, winded and panting in an effort to catch her breath. Sweat drips down her body in shallow streamlets from the exertion. Wearing only a black sports bra and black jersey shorts, any onlooker could see the noticeable shine of perspiration on her skin. The girl must have been exhausted.

"Why don't we take a break here, Maka?" suggests Black Star smoothly already moving to the edge of the dojo where his towel and water bottle are located. Don't think for a minutes he's entirely unaffected by this. He may not be as tired as Maka but he is sweating quite a bit. The girl always could give him a run for him money on a good day. He barely makes it halfway down the mat before she actually responds.

"No… Again!"

The assassin spins around with mild amusement shining in his eyes at the command to watch her press her hands behind her head and swing her legs up, jumping into a standing position. She stumbles a little, but she's up and already taking her stance. Soul raises an eyebrow at her behavior, the Maka he's come to acquaint himself with during the past week is never so reckless – barring her drunken spur of the moment actions toward him, though he can admit it was kind of his fault. She is always careful, always in control, being even reluctant at times, not to make a mistake. Not so much unlike the Maka he knew, but his meister was a queen at taking chances. I.e. Unplanned battles with Crona, fighting needlessly with Black Star, stealing books from the library. That kind of thing.

Kidd frowns.

"Don't push it, Maka. You'll just end up getting hurt."

"I'm fine!" she snaps at him and turns to Black Star. "Let's go!"

Those in observance can't help but smile at her antics. This is a clear reflection of the Maka they all remembered, a vague resemblance of that stubborn, persistent girl who never took no for an answer. The meister they all know and love. This is the woman who had at one time been the best female fighter in the Academy. Liz places a hand, freshly manicured, on Soul's shoulder for balance as she leans over for a closer look. Soul's lips turn upward.

This should be interesting.

The two dueling meisters face each other.

"You're gonna regret not taking a breather," chides Black Star.

"We'll see about that."

In a blur of movement, the two rush each other. Black Star delivers an elbow to Maka jaw line that sends her sideways. She recovers by diving into a side cartwheel. Not a moment later, Black Star's fist is coming straight for her face. She blocks it, crossing her arms over her face, but it sends her backwards into a roll anyway. Black Star comes again, this time with a round house kick.

Her weight supported by her shoulders, Maka blocks with one leg while cutting the other behind her opponent, in a stunning show of flexibility. The move sends Black Star to the floor. He lands flat on his back, rolling to get back on his feet, while Maka places the split she struck in the air on the floor and rolls through it to get back onto her feet. She swings to land a punch.

"You should learn to never make the same mistake twice."

Black Star blocks it gripping her hand in his, and he pulls to flip her over again.

"I wasn't planning to," she yells, and just as he's about to flip her, she pulls her foot up off the ground and kicks. That move combined with the momentum of Black Star's pull is enough to drive the top of her foot and shin directly into Black Star's face.

The hit sends him flying backward into the wall.

Time stands still.

Maka, standing still at the center of the mats, is astonished. She actually landed a hit. And by the looks of things, it was a pretty damn good one.

"Whoa…" The stillness is broken by Patti's voice, and suddenly Tsubaki is in motion, scurrying over to Black Star whose head is still embedded in the far wall. The care she exercises in pulling him out of the debris is proven useless as the instantly jumps out of the rumble into a wide stance pointing a rude finger at Maka who stands stunned in the same spot.

"Just where the hell did _that_ come from?"

She sputters in response, her hands rising in astonishment.

"Oh, Black Star, don't be a sore loser," snaps Kidd as he walks across the tatami mats toward the distressed female.

"Heh, me? Sore loser? I don't think so."

Kidd rolls his eyes.

"But Maka… Girl, you got a good kick. I almost forgot what a hit from you feels like."

Maka finds it odd that he sounds drunk as he says this, the nice red indentation of her leg on his face making the male look more like a clown with a bad sunburn. A bad sunburn that happens to only draw a clean line across his nose and eyes. She swears she didn't hit him that hard.

"Hahaha, she sure did you in, and she didn't even have to kick you in the balls to do it," exclaims a bouncing Patricia Thompson, making her way over to the meister. Patti gives him a hard slap on the back. The impact sends the already stunted meister reeling. He ends up flopping like a dead fish onto the wooden dojo floor. He lies there for several moments.

"You're never gonna let that go, are you, Patti?" he grumbles into the floor, seemingly unable to move..

"Black Star?" the worried weapon calls lifting the male up and clutching him to her body, his head cushioned against her bosom.

"Is he okay?"

Maka hasn't moved from her spot, but she's angling her head trying to get a glimpse of Black Star's condition. Patti just pokes the now comatose male with a stick while Tsubaki only sighs as her boyfriend seems to snuggle deeper into her cleavage. He twitches slightly in retaliation to the pistol's incessant probing, his lips quirked upward as he basks in the warms that is Tsubaki.

The whole scene is somewhat endearing.

"That little pervert. I hope she gives him a good smack for that later."

Soul's left his seat and meandered his way over to where Maka and Kidd are standing. He watches the scene before him with all the cynicism of a bored defense attorney passing judgment on his shameless best friend. He and Maka may have taken the stray "adventure" around Shibusen every so often but aside from the occasional pop kiss or holding of hands, neither of them ever where a pair to condone PDA – Public Displays of Affection.

He shakes his head determined to ignore the pair, placing a hand on Maka's shoulder.

"It's about time someone threw his head into a wall."

She gives him a little half-smile.

"I hope he's alright."

"Well, injured trainers aside," drawls Kidd, hiding a laugh behind his fist. Amber eyes look with tender regard to the fallen meister still rolling about in a daze in Tsubaki's lap before turning to look at Maka and Soul and then toward the entrance to the dojo. "What do you think Professor Stein?"

The professor is hanging off the doorframe, his forearms braced against the panels. The man smirks at Kidd's question, his glasses gleaming in the dim light. The sadistic insanity in his gaze as he studies the still sweaty Maka insights the blonde's mouth to dry up faster than a desert in drought. It feels like she's just gulped down a thick wad of sand.

"I think you're ready to start weapon training."

That's a good thing, right?

They why does she just feel like she's lost her lunch?

* * *

><p>Stein is insane. She'd suspected it the first day she met him, but now, she knew.<p>

She's been in weapon training for five days. Her regiment has only changed slightly. Mornings, she was still all Black Star's, sweating her ass off and getting stronger. In the afternoons, she's all Stein's. He practices more hand to hand with her and gives her a wooden staff to work with until Soul arrives two hours later. Then, they get on to the real stuff.

Day One: Basics. Okay fine. No problem there. She picked up everything pretty quickly, if she did say so herself. There was a near miss – she's unhappy to admit. Soul's blade had a bit of a close encounter with her ankle, but it's fine. He managed to change his momentum at the last minute and she's uninjured. She comes out the day relatively unscathed, escaping with only a medium sized blister on the palm of her hand, but it hasn't even popped, so it hardly matters anything.

Day Two: Stein starts to spar against her. She thinks it's way too soon. She gets her ass handed to her, perfectly packaged in a zip-lock bag and signed with a scalpel incision. But even here, she's alright. She can hold her own. She and Soul have a good rhythm set, and even though she comes home bumped and bruised, she still feels like she's making progress.

Day Three: This is where we have turbulence. Stein decides it's time for them to try resonance of the soul, the ultimate bonding of two souls. She reluctant about it, not to mention tired from the full day of training, but Soul gives her is confidence, and despite the knot twisting away in her gut, she tries it anyway. With disastrous consequences.

There isn't even a flicker of Witch Hunter, but that's not the trauma.

No, the teeth gridding, hissing, pull-your-hair-out reaction come from the violent shuddering of their carefully reestablished and slowly strengthening soul bond. It tears with the rebound of a rubber band drawn too taunt and snaps as cleanly as a guitar string. The resulting mini-explosion sends the weapon and meister flying across the room in opposite directions. She lands in a heap against the teacher's desk while he ends up draped across several chairs.

And that was just their first attempt. Every attempt follow had been an equally debilitating failure. And there was plenty of broken glass, furniture, chairs, cracked walls and dented doors lying around to provide further proof of her failure. There's even a fallen tree lying about in the training fields when Stein finally got the bright idea to take them outside for training rather than risk anymore damage expenses.

Yes, Soul Resonance has become the bane of her existence.

Maka's sore and achy. Not to mention agitated with herself for not being able to wield Soul properly. Soul himself is just fine and dandy. Sure he's been dropped on his head bout five thousand times today and the day before and the day before, but he's perfectly alright. His weapon form is pretty resilient to damage. He being patient and understanding and all that other crap men are supposed to be whenever their partner is going through a hard time. The only problem is, the more patient he is, the more pissed off and frustrated she seems to get. It's driving him crazy.

It's been five days since they started weapon training, and her contact skills were progressing further and further with each day. It won't be long until she's sent on her first mission alone with him. If you ask him, she's doing fine relearning everything. If you ask her, she'll only go off at the mouth about how much she sucks at it. She only feels that way because she can't get a good grasp on soul resonance yet.

Stubborn woman doesn't seem to realize how difficult it is to regain an ability that took them nearly a year to master together. In fact, it took them exactly 99 kishin egg souls, one magical cat soul, and a nasty encounter with Shibusen's more- how should I put this? – eccentric faculty. Point is it takes time.

Returning to the apartment after their latest session with Kidd and Stien is probably the safest thing Soul has ever decided in his life. She's not outwardly angry. She doesn't so much as twitch when he asks her if she's steamed, but he can tell by the way she refuses to meet his gaze all the way home. She dives directly into the shower not five minutes after they get home while Soul heads to the kitchen to get dinner started. It's his turn after all.

He goes for something simple. Grilled chicken sandwiches are easy enough and fast enough to make. In fact, by the time he's finishing up their meal, she's standing across from him in the kitchen wearing her typical white skirt and pink top.

"Soul?" she asks stepping up and helping him clear some of the cooking tools.

"What's up, Maka?"

He's placing their meals on the table.

"Is it odd how quickly Stein is moving us through this training?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking at her with a mild carefree attitude.

"Not really. You progressed through physical condition to weapon handling a lot faster than we expected. You've been picking things up fairly quickly. I'm not surprised that they've tried to pick up the pace."

"But this soul resonance stuff, doesn't that usually take months of training before even attempting."

"Well yeah, usually, but keep in mind that you've done all of this before. Not to mention the fact that we had already reestablished our wavelengths that night at the party, remember? Or were you too drunk to keep that little affair?"

He grinds out the last sentence with an angry curl of his lips.

Maka just blushes, her cheeks alighting in erubescent pink. She knows what Kidd's talking about. They'd done a bit more than line up wavelengths that fine dance. They shared a memory, an intimate one at that. One that had Maka's toes curling in giddy pleasure and Soul's lips upturning in cool dude arrogance.

And mentioning intimate, it had been most humiliating facing Soul the follow morning. Oh god, what she'd tried to start! Yes, she can admit she's been flirting with him. It is hard to resist something so innocent – he's a good looking male specimen after all. But to go that far! This guy has been grieving the death of his girlfriend for that last two years, just because she so happens to be that girlfriend doesn't change the fact that he's in pain and still getting used to the idea of her being alive. It's hard for him to even look at her at times, knowing she doesn't actually know who she it. She sees it the tightness around his eyes, the forlorn reflection in his irises. He's hurting. So she promises herself not to drink again anytime soon. Alcohol just has that _effect_ on her, if you know what I mean.

"I remember perfectly well, thank you very much. And I wasn't _that_ drunk."

She huffs indignantly at him, turning back to the sink where she's filling a bowl with soap and water for washing after they eat.

"Whatever you say, Maka," he chuckles, half expecting Maka to punch him. He fights to ignore the rising disappointment when she doesn't. He doesn't know why he keeps hoping, he baits her every chance he gets without any resulting fruits to his labor. He wasn't a masochist per say, but there was just something about taking one of Maka's chop that he's missed.

"It's just frustrating that I can't get it."

He walks up behind and pulls the spatula out of her hand before she can put it in the water, sets it there himself, and turns her to face him.

"Okay, how 'bout this? After we eat, we can try soul resonance in the living room."

Her eyebrows twitch up in disbelief.

"You sure? Does it even work that way?"

"Yeah, we used to resonant all the time for training purposes." _Among other things…_

He turns away from her so she won't see the smile trying to worm its way onto his face.

Ah, memories.

"Alright, let's do it."

So the plan was established.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, Maka and a freshly showered Soul sit on the living room carpet facing each other. Snowy white hair still hangs damp around the males face as he sits in a muscle shirt and sweats across from Maka.<p>

"Alright, so just give me your hands."

She does as requested, her small palms sliding into his outstretched hands.

"So, how does this work?"

Red marbles burns into her skin as he looks at her.

"It'll work the same as when I'm in weapon form. We'll start with a basic resonance and when we're ready we can try for soul resonance. Just don't try to force it, okay."

She trusts him, probably more than she rightly should, having just met him little more than three weeks ago, but she'll let him guide her through this because he's her partner, and she's confident he will never force something on her she isn't ready for.

"Okay…" she whispers and allows him to slide their souls together.

It starts as a small tingling sensation very reminiscent of the first time they'd realigned their wavelengths, only without the underlying buzz of alcohol. Pleasant, like the melting of cotton candy on your tongue. She's as comfortable with this level. It's easy to feel, easy to sink into, and she doesn't feel like she bearing her soul to him. The idea of that scares her.

She's ill prepared for when he deepens the bond to something a little closer to soul resonance. It feels like someone just gave her a shot of adrenaline, it sparks through her body. Her breathing quickens, and goose bumps break out along her body. She doesn't even understand why.

They aren't dancing. There's no pulsing music. They're barely even touching, and still it feels it even more intense than anything she's ever felt before. Her fingers burn where their hands meet. The churning palpitations prickle up her arms into the back of her neck, raising the hair at the base of her spine.

It's dragging her down under a blanket of sensation. She is held down, prostrate before its fury.

_They're resonating._

_They've been resonating for hours, ever since they'd returned to their small apartment after the defeat of Asura, with no sign of cutting the connection anytime soon. Understandably. They're bruised and beaten, fatigue has seeped into their souls but still their bodies remain tangled in the sheets of Soul's bed, the need to keep the contact active more essential to living than breathing at the moment. _

_They needed to keep the bond between them as alive and as powerful as ever in deference to the monster that had almost severed their connection permanently._

_Because Asura had targeted Maka, and Soul had almost had to sit back and watch as his meister's soul was robbed of her body._

_The contours of her back slide along his chest. His arms wrapped around her naked torso, one hand at her waist, the other at her breast. She tangles her hand in his hair, her nails digging into the back of his neck as his lips assault her neck until she pulls him into a kiss. Their bodies are completely slicked with sweat…_

It falls away…

The memory fades before Maka can truly understand what she sees. She's clenching at strings to understand. She wants the memory back, and she doesn't care what the cost is. She wants to see that memory.

So she surges her energy forward.

Soul doesn't quite get it at first. He's too busy pulling out of their link, trying to hide the vision from her. There are moments in his life that he wouldn't ever share with anyone. This was one of those moments. The first time Maka, the woman who never thought she could ever place her heart in a man's hand, told him, "I love you." He wouldn't give those details to anyone who didn't already know about them. It was strictly between him and Maka, even if she couldn't remember it, and he didn't feel it was his place to give the memory back to her. This is something she would have to reclaim for herself. It just didn't feel right having to _show_ her that memory.

Her initial attempts to pull him back into resonance are little more than tugs. It feels more like kitty-cat Blair trying to pull him off the sofa by the hem of his jeans (she tried it once before; he slept right through the treatment). He ignores it, thinking this girl doesn't have the balls to try anything.

He doesn't realize just how badly she wants it though, until her soul grips his in a vice and her wavelength rushes into him. He can do nothing but accept it with the willingness one would accept a knife to the gut.

_Heady panting fills the air._

"_Soul!" she cries out as he lifts her up. Her arms wind around his neck, and suddenly she can't get close enough to this man. Their souls nothing more than a convoluted mass of quivering hunger inside their enflamed bodies, blood mixing and pooling without ever spilling. He screams but it's her voice that sings its abandon to the thicker-than-honey atmosphere. She shudders in pleasure, yet it's his toes that curl in fabric beneath them._

"_Soul," she calls again, her lips nursing his earlobe. _

_Her gaze returns to him as she rocks gently in his lap._

"_I lo-"_

**SNAP!**

Soul severs the connection with the ferocity of a caged boar. The force of it throws her backwards into the couch. She bounces off the back, rolling over and over to the floor. She lands with all the grace of a sumo wrestler. The rebound vibrates through her thin frame like a bass drum. And it hurts. Oh, does it hurt. Needles embed themselves all over her raggedy limb. Face down on the carpet, every forced inhalation of god knows how many dust bunnies drives a knife deeper and deeper into her ribcage.

Soul doesn't even feel guilty about it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

He's standing a fair distance away from her, wringing his hands through his unruly mop of hair, a testament to his frayed nerves. He looks positively livid. It's as evident as the fiery hue of his eyes, if not more so. The rage burns like volcanic ash leaving a bad taste in her mouth, but underneath the anger is the bitter taste of betrayal in his words. He's aching, and it's that knowledge that makes her want to vomit.

He's yelling at her. Worse than nails on a chalkboard, it bashes her head like a sledgehammer. Her hands squish into her hair trying to dampen the headache that's racing at her faster than a freight train. It makes her nauseous on top of that.

"You don't force your wavelength into somebody like that. You could have seriously injured the both of us and then what? What the hell were you thinking?"

She curls in on herself, her voice small in response to the question that's not really looking for an answer.

"I just wanted to see it."

"So you force yourself on me? Damn, Maka. I didn't realize you were that reckless."

"You've never had a problem with me looking before."

Her voice is rising now. What she says isn't wrong.

They've resonated so closely and so often that she's been able to seek out memories in his head, not something he minds so much. It helps her remember after all. He's all for anything that moves her healing process along, but why did she have to pull for that memory. It was too intimate, the very definition of their relationship, the epitome of heightened emotion. As much as he might long to recreate that moment with her again, it just didn't feel right having the memory coaxed out of him.

His next words are so somber and serious.

"There are some things I shouldn't have to show you."

_Ring!_

The shrill cries of the house phone slice through her frayed nerves like a knife through butter. She makes a mental note to bludgeon herself with a frying pan later for jumping at a household sound She must look absolutely pathetic the way she cringes like a beaten dog. Worse, like a scared mouse. Not like _his_ meister. Maka would never back down from him whether he was right or not.

Soul does not recognize the woman lying before him on the carpet.

He scoffs on his way to the phone.

"Eater."

Depthless viridian follows the weapon's actions as though looking through plated glass, unseeing and vacant, before they slide, forlorn, to a hardly-bigger-than-her-pinkie-nail stain on the floor. The woman doesn't think anything, doesn't feel anything anymore. She doesn't even try to follow Soul's conversation over the phone. Some part of her brain registers that his voice raises in disbelief at some point, but she's hardly even paying attention as the man hangs up the phone and brings his attention back to her.

"We have a meeting with Lord Death in the morning."

Silent as death, she sits on her hip staring down at the floor. The seconds tick by and still she doesn't acknowledge him.

"Are you listening to me, Maka?"

"Soul, we were just lovers, right?"

The curve ball goes right over his head. He didn't even see it coming. He sighs more than a little weary, unsure of how he should even answer that question.

"Maka-"

"Don't call me that!" she snaps, her eyes closed in barely withheld anger and uncontrollable anxiety.

Can you feel the tension? Soul's eyes harden, narrowing to thin burning slits of fire.

"She and I were a lot more than that, _Mari_!"

He spits her name out the way one would a curse, and turns on his heel to head in the direction of his room. Maybe he's over reacting, but this lost, angry shell of a woman is not his meister, and for the first time since her reappearance in his life, he doubts she ever will be again. He rips the door open. He can't deal with this right now, not when he's so close to breaking.

"See you in the morning."

The slight crack of his voice at the end only drives his fury higher.

The resounding bang is loud enough to shake the pictures on the wall. Seconds later, another bang sounds as though he's just punched the wall. She feels guilty now, but it's the resulting silence that drives her crazy. It stuffs cotton into her ears and presses on her eyes. Her knees pull into her chest and her face buries itself in the resulting nook.

What has she done?

The tears fall before she has a hope of stopping them.

"¿Por qué me vine aquí?"(a.)

TBC

Don't hate me…

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, though I'm pretty sure some of you want to kill me right now. It's okay, I promise everything with be alright in due time.

Please Review!

On a side note: That flashback really had my muse going. I'm thinking about making a short side fic to go along with it. What do you say? Is it worth it?

(a.) Translation – "Why did I come here?"


	12. The Tide Began to Rise

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater. Nor do I claim ownership to any songs by Demon Hunter.

Author's Note: Hey guys. Once again thank you for the reviews. I love the feedback as usual, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Remember Me

The Tide Began to Rise

"I'm glad you could both make it. I have some news for the both of you."

Lord Death, chipper as ever, is either completely oblivious to or is polity ignoring the tense atmosphere between the weapon and meister currently standing before him. Maka and Soul for their part haven't spoken a word to each other all morning. Breakfast, a filling plate of eggs, bacon, and toast – courtesy of Maka, mind you, was a silent affair. They hadn't even looked at each other save for the initial, and decidedly forceful, greetings of "good morning."

She'd even spent more time in the bathroom than necessary just to try and get under his skin. It kind of worked, but his only response had been to bang, none too gently, on the door and tell her to hurry up or they were going to be late.

She had not been pleased.

One awkward bike ride later – she's reluctant to grip him around the waist – found them at the DWMA's Death Room in the presence of not only Lord Death and Prof. Stein but Kidd, Black Star, and Tsubaki as well. The twin pistols were nowhere to be found.

"What might that be?" asks Soul, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket.

"Well, Maka, Stein and I have decided that you are ready to take on your first mission with Soul as your weapon partner. We believe-"

"But I'm not ready! Soul and I can't even per-!"

Kidd's giving her a look that says hush, and she seems to realize that she basically just interrupted the most powerful being on the face of the planet.

"You can't even…" urges the shinigami.

Looking properly cowed, she continues.

"Sorry, it's just we haven't been able to accomplish Witch Hunter yet, and I thought that was an essential part of the training."

The masked god seems to chew on this bit of information.

"You're not incorrect in saying that. However, Soul Resonance is a technique unnecessary when battling low level kishin such as the one you will be up against. While it is a good asset to have, you've never been one to use it all the time."

"Really?"

"Why, yes! In fact, if I remember correct, you two hunted down a total of 99 kishin eggs before achieving a proper soul resonance."

"Oh," she murmurs, brow furrowing in an emotion Soul doesn't quite know how to identify. Disappointment, confusion, maybe even calculation.

"This is why," continues Stein from behind the death god. "We feel now is a good time for you to be sent out on your first mission. You can get a handle on what real combat is like against a kishin egg, and perhaps the resulting time and hardship spent together will bring you a few steps closer to resonance. Understand?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Excellent." Lord Death claps his oversized hands together in his zeal. "You will be leaving tomorrow morning bright and early. I advise you take the remainder of the day to pack up and get some rest. You'll be needing it for your mission tomorrow. You will be flying to Jerusalem at six AM. Your target is…"

Maka can only nod in astonishment as Shinigami-sama goes through the mission details. She's not ready for this. Don't they know that? No one has any idea of the argument her and Soul had had the night before. For all she knows she's screwed up any chance of their souls ever resonating as they did once upon a time. After what she said, he probably hates her now. Hell, he's not exactly her favorite person right now after his amazing commercialization of his brand of asshole. What if he doesn't want to work with her anymore? The thought should be devastating, and it would be under any other circumstances, but right now, she doesn't even know if she wants to keep up the charade any longer than she has to.

"What if it's a mistake?"

She's not sure how it's possible, but the eye holes in Shinigami-sama's mask seem to widen.

"Pardon?"

"What if I mess up? If I make a mistake it could cost both of our lives."

"That won't happen."

Soul's voice is smooth and calm beside her. That's the biggest sentence he's uttered to her all day, and she can only glance at him before averting her gaze to the floor. Her shame is more than evident in her posture.

"You can't know that."

"On the contrary, it's my job to know that, _Maka_."

The way he says it, cocky and matter-o-factly, does nothing to ease her doubts. The name sounds like a taunt on his tongue. If anything she's annoyed by his arrogance. It pisses her off. All she does is huff at him, muttering under her breath something that no one in the room is able to catch. Soul's eyes never leave her form as she shakes her head, eyes rolling skyward.

Shinigami-sama is looking back and forth between the weapon and meister pair thoroughly confused by their behavior. Stein, ever the scientist, appreciates this new puzzle to solve. It's been a long while since the pair fought, and he'd always made a game out of analyzing who would cave and apologize first.

The only one who seems to verbally acknowledge the dissension between the pair is Kidd.

"Tsubaki, Black Star why don't you take Maka and go on ahead. We still have something to discuss with Soul."

"Sure thing! Come on, Maka!"

Tsubaki, ever the peacemaker, grabs Maka by the forearm and all but steers her out of the room, the confused woman choking and sputtering the whole way out in a meager attempt at resistance. She has her halfway out the door when she calls for her meister.

"Black Star, hurry up!"

"Coming…"

With the careless toss of a farewell over his shoulder, he is gone.

"What's going on, Soul?"

Kidd doesn't waste any time. The interrogation begins.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Really, then why do I feel like I'm about to witness a repeat of the immortal werewolf mission?"

"That will never happen!"

"Then you better start explaining what the hell is going on between you two."

Soul narrows his eyes at Kidd. The gunslinger is going to make an excellent replacement for his father one day. He already acts like everybody's business is his own.

"We had a fight, alright. That's it."

"And what, exactly, did this fight pertain to?" asks Stein.

"I offered to practice soul resonance with her; she agreed. Things got a little to heated and a memory surfaced."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not with this memory, Kidd."

The shinigami looks more than a little skeptical at his decision making.

"I tried to pull out of the resonance, but she stopped me. She tried to pull it out of me and in doing so she forced her wavelength into me."

"Ouch…" supplies Lord Death thoughtfully. "So she basically tried to force a resonance on you."

Soul nods, digging his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I got pissed and sent it back at her. I said some stuff to her. She said some crap to me, and now we're on edge."

"Is that really all?"

"Yes!" he hisses. It's a forced response, too aggressive and unbelievable. Kidd doesn't buy it for a minute, and he's about say as much when his father cuts him off.

"Well, I'm sure you two will work out your differences. Before that though, there's something we need you to understand."

Soul's eyes trace from the silent professor to Kidd to Lord Death, suspicion evident in his gaze.

"This mission is as much a test for you as it is for her."

"What do you mean?"

"You've shown an exponential amount of progress since you began your training with me and you are most certainly next in line to becoming my personal weapon. However, Spirit is still my death scythe, and he will be returning by the time the two of you get back. Ideally, I would pair you and Maka back up to continue in your previous duties elsewhere. The only problem is that if this mission isn't a success… Well…"

"If this mission proves that you cannot work well with Maka as she is now," Stein continues. "Your partnership will be terminated until further notice."

Even Kidd's eyes widen at this revelation.

"I heard nothing of this!"

"You can't do that!"

Soul's hands have made their first appearance of the day, fisted and raised as though preparing to attack at any moment. Even his teeth are bared like a rabid dog.

"On the contrary, we can. You've been working with Maka for the last few weeks to no avail. As she is now, you two cannot achieve soul resonance. Your wavelength is not molding with hers the way it is correctly."

"What do you mean as she is now? It's Maka for Death's sake!"

"It's a Maka who has no recollection of her past," explains Lord Death calmly. "We've been monitoring her progress this entire time. She's making great progress, and she will make an excellent meister with time just as she used to be, but – and this is something you need to understand, Soul – her memories show no signs of reawakening any time soon."

Soul's hands drop to his sides.

"Now we ask the question, can you work with a Maka who has no memory of your past together? Can you stay with her even if her memories never return?"

No answer.

"If this mission proves that you can't, than it would be better for the both of you to be reassigned. Do you understand that, Soul?"

Numbness has seeped into his limbs. Eyes downcast, hair hanging limply into his face, he doesn't respond for the longest time before his fists clench up and his jaw line tenses. He turns his back to his three superiors.

"Maka and I may be on rocky ground right now, but I can guarantee you, this test is a waste of your time."

Soul never sees Kidd's grimace as he stomps his way to the door.

"You idiot, she might never get her memory back."

"That won't happen."

And the door slams shut behind him.

* * *

><p>The plane ride to Jerusalem the next morning and the short drive from the airport to the hotel give her a lot of time to think over the events of the last day.<p>

Conversations…

_"Did something happen?"_

_Black Star left not too long ago, and Tsubaki stands in the center of Maka's room looking more than a little concerned as the shorter woman packs away what she thinks she'll be needing for this mission._

_She pauses in her task._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Between you and Soul, did something happen?"_

_She winces. The chain scythe doesn't see it because she's returned to rummaging through Maka's closet looking for an appropriate mission uniform._

"_No, nothing really."_

_She lies through her teeth, and it's so obvious she's surprised Tsubaki doesn't turn around right there and call her out on it. But she doesn't, the brunette just keeps riffling through the closet pushing aside thick black fabric. She pulls out a white trench coat and turns around._

_She gives it a long hard stare, graces Maka with a glance, shakes her head and then hangs it back up. "Nope, dirties too easily." And continues her battle with dusty old clothing._

"_Tsubaki…"_

"_Yes, Maka?"_

"_When Soul and I used to fight in the past, how did we resolve those arguments?"_

_She pauses only a moment, cocking her head to the right in thought._

"_You know, I don't really know."_

_She turns back to the wardrobe and continues her searching._

"_Aside from the fight you had under Prof. Stein's influence, I don't think I've ever seen one of your fights."_

"_Then how do you know that we used to fight so much?"_

_She seems to chew it over in her head a few moments before answering._

"_It was easy to tell when you two were fighting. You two would hardly even look at each other whenever you were mad. Kind of like today, might I add?" She shoots Maka a knowing look over her shoulder before continuing. "The tension in the room and the occasional public dispute always had the rest of us concerned, but we've never seen you guys really duke it out in public, and as a result we've never seen you make up, so your guess is as good as mine."_

_Maka sighs._

"_Then how can I-"_

"_Maka, when did you get this?"_

_Tsubaki presents to her an outfit the weapon has never seen on Maka before. The bagging around it is in near mint condition, unopened and fresh from the store. Maka gaps at the item in Tsubaki's hand._

"_Oh, Liz and Patti took me shopping my first day here. Liz picked that out."_

"_It's absolutely perfect for you. Here, pack it away. You need to wear it."_

_She bustles over to Maka's suitcase and starts folding it into place. The blonde tries to stop her._

"_Wait! I can't wear that, it's too…" She trails off unsure what it's too much of._

"_Too…?"_

_She looks flustered._

"_I don't know. Revealing? It's just not me, Tsubaki."_

"_But it is you, Maka. Just like Soul is your weapon. You just have to let them be."_

She still doesn't understand what she meant by that. Walking behind Soul on the way to the hotel room, she can barely tear her eyes off his back long enough to take in her surroundings. She still hasn't really spoken to him since that night. Granted the animosity has notably melted away and they've exchanged pleasantries and polite conversation, but the awkwardness was still there along with a measured degree of tension.

In the dull lighting of the corridor they follow, she can just make out the fine lines of tension cascading over his shoulders. Any other observer would never have notice the faint shaking of his hand as he holds the room key poised and ready. The metals click and slide together as he unlocks the door, opening the entryway wide so he can step through with his luggage in tow and so she may follow in after.

She doesn't. Not entirely at least.

She stalls in the doorway, her shadow long against the carpeted floor, haloed by the warm glow of the hallway.

"_I'll never run away from fear."_

A whisper from the past. The words of an open textbook left behind in an old Spanish household.

Maka Albarn…

She was known for her courage and her strength of will. She was the kind of person to overcome anything. She follows in her mother's footsteps of her own free will because she wants to become someone great just like her. Prideful and strong, three-star scythe meister, Maka never allowed anyone to limit her and always set her goals as high as was imaginable. Her soul perception outclassed that of all others before her, and she wasn't afraid to use that ability for the wellbeing of her friends and family. Not like Mari.

Mari is fearful. In the two years of her memories start, she's never taken a risk. She follows a career in medicine because her parents offered it to her and it seemed like the easiest way to go. She doesn't understand her spiritual abilities, and they terrify her to the brink of tears.

She feels out of place watching Soul, who is so much stronger than her, who has suffered so much more than her, place his belongs in various drawers and hang his jacket in the closet.

"Soul…" she calls softly into the darkened room.

He stops in his ministrations and takes her in. Braided hair, too loose clothing, familiar green eyes displaying unfamiliar uncertainty. He's reminded once again just how much of a stranger this woman is to him. She has his full attention, though she does not speak again for the longest time. She drops her eyes from him.

"Are you with _me_, Soul?"

The stress she puts on "me" snaps his previous resolve. He visibly flinches. It resonates with him hard, and he begins to understand. She needs his support to get through this, and he needs to be willing to give it if this is going to work. He's tired and weary of the pain he's been suffering the last two years, she knows that. She understands it better than anything else she's been presented with since returning to Death City, but she needs him to accept her. And looking into her eyes, he thinks maybe giving her the support she needs could be the first step to letting go of something that has been hindering him for far too long.

With a heavy sigh, he makes his way over to her and takes the duffle bag out of her closed fist. She looks at him as he places a hand at her waist and ushers her inside, closing the door behind her. He deposits her bag on the bed next to his own

"Come on. You should get dressed."

It's a quiet acceptance, but it's an acceptance she'll take any day.

And as she nods her agreement with Soul, she feels for the first time in weeks like she's found a place that a least somewhat resembles home.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Maka finds herself in the bathroom freshly changed into the mission uniform Liz and Patti graciously supplied to her. She's still a bit apprehensive about walking out in public with it on, but looking at in the mirror now, it's not so bad.<p>

The look consists of a short, mid-thigh, pleated black and white skirt with a winged belt securing it to her hips. Underneath she's coordinated a pair of black leggings that peek out just below the skirt's hem. On top she wears a white (almost see-through), button-down v-neck with long sleeves. Over that is a black, leather vest that zips up to the center of her chest. The two hug her body like a second skin and she's wary of the amount of cleavage that peeks out at the top. It's not much but to her modest set of ideals it's more than necessary. In her hand is a black hoodie with skull accents and white lining. The back, in reminiscence of a trench coat, splits at the waist and trails down to her knee in two tiers. Finishing the outfit is a pair of black and white combat boots that lace up to about an inch below the knee and pair of thick leather gloves.

The look overall isn't bad at all, just less conservative as she's used to as she's been saying.

"Maka, come on! We gotta get going before dark."

Soul's voice cracks her from her internal musings.

"Coming…" she calls.

She takes one last long loot in the mirror before slowly breathing in and breathing out. Time to go, she opens the bathroom door slowly and braces herself for impact in T minus 3, 2…

"Hey, Maka, you rea-?"

1… Damn! Soul's mouth has plummeted open at the sight of her. If she wanted to, she could probably count each of his teeth from where she's standing.

"Yeah. Whenever you are," she offers trying to get Soul's attention off of her and onto the mission. He seems to snap out of his daze, or at least, his mouth stops acting as a flytrap. He flushes bright red, his eyes darting back and forth between the door and some random position on her body.

"Ye-Yeah, I'm ready. T-that looks good by the way."

"Thanks… Shall we go?"

"Yeah," he says, grabbing his jacket and opening the door. "Let's go."

And the pair steps out into the dim-lit corridor and into the setting sun.

* * *

><p>They hunt.<p>

Night has fallen, and with it came the rain. You could barely see the cackling moon through the cloud cover.

Prowling the rooftops looking for any signs of disturbance, Soul gripped tightly in one hand, Maka recounts her training and everything she's learned. She's nervous, butterflies have taken up residence in her belly and their consistent fluttering is making her nauseous. Black Star's last words to her sound through her mind in a constant loop.

"Keep in mind, Maka, it's not a monster or an animal you're hunting. This is a human being with its personal set of habits and behavioral patterns. You're hunting a serial killer with a lust for blood and power. This is a murderer, and if you cannot kill them, they will kill you."

"Maka, what are you thinking about?"

Soul's disembodied voice snaps her from her revere. She shakes herself out of her near stupor.

"Nothing really. Just going over something Black Star told me about kishin."

"Look, don't stress about this too much. You have the skills to do this. They wouldn't have sent you out here if they thought you were going to fail."

His words are meant to boost her confidence, but there's something in the way he says it that just doesn't feel one hundred percent. There's doubt. She can sense it.

"Why does it feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

"Because there is."

She certainly admires his honesty, and she doesn't think she's going to get much more out of him, but she tries anyway.

"What is it?"

He seems to sigh in her hands. It is odd feeling, like the metal just breathed on her. It's weird.

"Nothing you need to worry about right now. Let's just get this baddie, so we can rub it in their faces."

She frowns at the implication.

"Oh, Soul!" she scolds lightly.

"Maka!" he whines back at her, squirming in her grip. Neither meister nor weapon can reign in the uncontrollable laughter that bubbles out of their bellies. They don't even know how long they bask in their glee. The time just flies by until the scream breaks the calm.

Time stops.

Blood-curdling, the pitch has Maka's toes curling in their boots. The maniacal crescent moon bites his lip and the blood begins to run. The kishin is nearby. The monster is hunting. Her prey has been found.

"Come on, Maka!"

She takes off in the direction of the scream, Soul clenched tightly in her right hand. She doesn't need to go far at all. Passing a few buildings, she finds herself at the scene, and it's gruesome. Oh, it is gruesome.

Heaping amounts of foul garbage line the street. The putrid stench lines her nostrils and gags her. The mixture of human waste and rotting food pungent on the air is almost enough to drive her back out of the confined space, but she has a job to do, and Soul is pressing her forward.

She wonders if he can even smell the acrid stench.

But the trash is nothing compared to the scent that awaits her. She dry heaves into a nearby bin at the assault on her senses. Blood coats the granite. Metallic in flavor, tempered rust coats the atmosphere and the distinctive odor of the victim's released bowels refuses to blend with the surrounding disease-stricken fumes. The body lays sprawled spread eagle on the pavement. Or, at least, it would be spread eagle had the limbs still been attached. The ribcage peeled open like a Chinese takeout box the kishin feasts out of.

The beast is hunched over the body, face buried deep in the mess of organs and gore. Six limbs protrude from the torso alone. This spidery being painted in ebony and ivory and blood is feasting from his victim like a demon glutton.

The sight inspires a deep burning rage to boil in the pit of her stomach.

"Qazi Yaseen!"

The kishin's face whips around to face her. Too-transparent skin stretched taunted over bone and skull, scaly and snake-like in contrast to a normal human's skin. A blackened tongue swipes out lap up the blood spilling over torn up lips. The creature starts to pant, excitement swelling in its belly.

"Be careful, Maka. This guy has been trying to turn himself into a demon weapon. We don't know what he's capable of."

"Right."

The wet sickening sound of skin tearing open floods her ears, and she can now see the blades, blood red in the moonlight, protruding from his forearms – all six of them.

He lurches at her, taking a swipe with the limbs on his right side.

"Maka!"

She lifts Soul at the last second, blocking the attack to her side and jumping backwards out of the alley onto the nearby rooftop, Yaseen hot on her heels, nothing but gnashing teeth and clicking blades. She dives forward, Soul's blade whistles down deflected by the kishins middle left arm and he swipes at her again with his top and bottom left arm. She barely dodges, the top blade drawing the thinnest of slashes across her cheek.

She jumps into a back flip, both feet slamming into the kishin's chin while she manipulates Soul into a whirl to block the oncoming assault of blades. Yaseen is flung back onto the flat of his back, temporarily stunned. Maka sees an opportunity and seizes it. She dashes for the beast ready to stab her blade straight into the monster's belly, but she's not quick enough.

He throws out a fist on instinct alone and it catches her in the chest with enough force to send her rolling backwards across the rooftop and landing head first against a chimney, dazed and winded.

"Maka, get up!"

And she is in a few seconds looking for her prey. He hasn't moved from his position.

The kishin writhes in apparent agony in the dirt and grime of the rooftop. She wonders if maybe she actually did manage to hit the damn thing in her last attack, but something's off. She can't see so clearly through the dust, but it looks as if its limbs are shifting. Its two lower pairs of arms are receding, thinning into bony extension of his torso while a leathery film seeps out of his sides and underarms.

It is grotesque, like watching a snake shed its skin. Only it looks more like this once-human is growing… wings?

Yellowing eyeballs roll in her direction while his back arches to an inhuman degree. The bones crack, muscle tearing under the stress. She cringes at the sound. The monster shrieks, the pitch shrill enough to shatter glass.

A banshee's scream, potent and deadly.

"Ahhhh!" she screams in return, collapsing onto the gravel. Her hands clench at her ears. Soul, cradled in the crease of her elbow, is vibrating at the frequency of the scream, the single red eye screwed shut in pain. Neither of them capable of catching the oncoming freight train.

"Shriiiiieeeek!"

"Maka, look out!"

Too late. The kishin is flying straight for her, its blade whistling for her neck. She throws herself to the right at the last second but is powerless to avoid the blow completely. Rotting metal bites deep into her exposed side while the beast continues on its path skyward.

No one said anything about this thing being able to fly.

"Damn it all!" she curses out under her breath, one hand clutching her battered left side. She'd left herself wide open for that attack in her surprise and disbelief. The kishin is more gargoyle than human, its legs having morphing into bird-like extensions complete with a set of three razor sharp claws on each foot.

"Maka! Duck!"

She obeys the command without even thinking, hitting the deck with enough force to bruise her already scratched up knees, and still the creature's talons bite into the flesh of her right shoulder. She ignores the pain, jumping right back up and giving chase to the monster currently fleeing across the rooftop.

"Soul! We have to try it!"

He knows what she's talking about, how can he not?

"But, Maka-!"

"Just do it!" she shouts back.

Soul growls out exactly what he thinks about that order (stubborn girl, she should just let him deal with this). But he concedes, focusing his energy on aligning their souls properly; she only vaguely registers him declaring that this is her last chance before he takes over this fight and sends her back to the hotel. She's already diving into the dark pool of her soul hell-bent on forcing her wavelength to shift as they both shout out.

"Soul Resonance!"

She can feel both of their souls crackling with power, but the two separate entities refuse to line up like disobedient children. She can already feel the rejection about to pry Soul from her hands like it had so many times before.

But she denies the rejection, tightening her hold on the scythe in her hands. Not now when both their lives are at stake, and Soul's just as tired as her. She will not be beaten by something as trivial as lining up her wavelength the right way. She refuses to give up. She refuses to admit yet another failure.

Because she's desperate.

Tired and in pain. Her physical body feels heavy with exhaustion. The agony of her wounds blurs her vision, and as she violently pumps her legs harder to run just a little faster, the blood oozes out of her fresh wounds in ugly, fat globs of crimson, staining her clothes and coating her skin in red. Adrenaline, it clogs her arteries and enflames her sense, pushes her to push harder.

But she ignores all of it, aiming all her focus, all her being, at completing this one small task. This stupid ability that had eluded her for weeks.

Soul resonance…

She should be ashamed. It's so pitiful she can't master it.

So she finds herself sliding out of one reality into another. She finds herself alone, surrounded by water. It's dark, the quiet heavy. At first, all is calm within her; she even takes a few steps forward, amazed she can walk on water, into the surrounding dark, but eventually her foot dips below the surface. The silence is penetrating, putting too much pressure on her ears as she sinks below the surface. She fights it at first, sure, but it's a losing battle. The more she struggles, the faster she falls, like quicksand, into the bottomless depths.

She flails in the dark, thrashing about like a straight-jacketed prisoner. The screams she should be emitting clogged in her throat at the weight of her panic and the cold emptiness seeping in around her.

She's suffocating, drowning in the blackness.

She fights to swim back up to the surface, her eyes wide and frantically searching for any particle of light to latch onto for her freedom, but nothing manifests. There is nothing, only a pressing chasm of nothingness. Only the sickening breath of despair eliciting goose bumps across the back of her neck. Despair's skin is clammy and itching as it pulls her down and down deeper into the churning pits of gloom.

Its hook catches her heart and tugs.

She is the forsaken, the lost. She knows it now. She can't do this because she's not Maka Albarn. Maka wouldn't have a problem resonating souls. Maka wouldn't have allowed the Kishin to sink its disgusting, claws into her. _She _is nothing but the empty shell of a body that looks like the great meister. She realizes that now, and the pain starts anew.

So she cries into the void, this womb of festering madness.

She shivers and quakes in her anguish. Her and Soul could both die out there, and all she can do is sit here sobbing, wailing her heartache to the dim, too weak and helpless to move from her prone, curled position in the water. Despair's cracked and crooked nails dig into the essence of her lost soul, drawing blood and leaving scars.

An eternity passes.

At least it feels like an eternity… She opens her eyes, swollen and bloodshot. She thinks her tears have dried because she can't feel them anymore – she forgets she's immersed in water, and she wonders why she's even bothered to stop crying. The blackness isn't going away, so what caused her open her eyes?

Then she sees it.

There is a muted light above her, spherical in shape hovering just beyond her reach. She wary at first, but she reaches for it, both hands rising up, reaching into the void the way a desert wanderer reaches for water. The tiny ball of light all too willingly floats into her open palms.

It's warm, the only bit of comfort she's found in this wretched place.

It's soft glow gives her the gift of sight, and for the first time since she's arrived in this place she notices what she's wearing: Black and white boots, a red plaid skirt, and a long black trench with a sweater vest and white button down underneath. Before her very eyes the outfit shifts. A white and blue sailor girl school uniform complete with a red tie and Spartoi insignia.

She's seen these images before. In photos and lost memories. In a dusty closet back home. Her old clothes, defining of what stage of her life she'd been in at the time.

A fresh batch of tears fall from her eyes, and she understands. This little orb that feels so familiar, so much like home…

"This is my soul."

She pulls it closer, this itty-bitty piece of hope, and hugs it to her chest. The faintest whisper of wings flutters against her skin, and not for the first time in her life, she prays.

She prays for the strength to fix this. She prays for her memories back. She prays for the soul in her arms, for a chance to wake up from this insipid nightmare. She prays for the destruction of a dusty grave and the resurrection of everything she's lost. She prays for her friends and the pain they've suffered for far too long. But most of all she prays for Soul. She begs for his sadness of diminish. She wants him to be happy. She want him to live again, something he can only do because Maka taught him how, even though can't recall the specific memoir.

She just wants everything to go back to normal!

"Please! Please, Help Me!"

Curled around the warm glow, her keening yowls animalistic and raw.

"Please! I need to remember!"

She yells her plea to the darkness. The sobs wreaking her form yet again. The sorrow so profound it hurts, a sharp throbbing at the center of her chest. It burns, growing and mixing will all of her frustration, her fear, her anger until all she is aware of is this boiling pit of rage at the core of her being. It intensifies until she can't take the torture any longer. Until she thinks death would be a better fate than this.

"Please!" she begs. Her scream echoes through the schism. A cry that embodies everything she's struggled with since that fateful day in Mexico: her confusion, her despair, her determination, her strife, her lust, her grievance… Her love.

Love? When did that factor into her emotions? All this time she's spent with her dream lover, and she never thought to pull that word into their equation. Did she love Soul? She'd never really thought about it.

Maka loved Soul. And I mean really loved him, not the simple puppy love so many teens mistake for true love. I mean true love, the I-would-sacrifice-everything-just-to-see-you-happy type of love. She knew that. She had for a while now, but did _she_, the woman formerly known as Maristela, love Soul?

She thinks back to everything she's done with him. Her flirting with him, kissing him, being around him, training with him. It was all very romantic. A love story that wasn't hers, and she's sure that she doesn't love him, not yet anyway. They hadn't known each other long enough. It's the truth she can't ignore, but in her heart, she knows, that with a little more time, a little more shared experiences, she definitely could.

Maristela could fall in love with Soul Eater Evans, but she won't have to.

Something breaks inside her. It shatters with the violence of shattering glass, releasing her from a cage she wasn't even aware of. The light in her arms grows from a soft hue shimmering humbly in the dark to something that could rival the intensity of the sun. She can feel the sphere itself sink into the depths of her body, into her very heart. The wings she barely even felt before unfurl to their full glory, the wingspan reaching just beyond the tips of her fingers, and she finds herself being propelled out of the remaining darkness into a sea of white light, a sea of memory.

_Her father reads her a book, while her pigtails dance in the Nevada breeze. Her mama plants a kiss on her cheek, the final goodbye before the most important woman in her life leaves for an adventure around the world leaving behind one prized possession for her daughter – her trade mark trench coat. Black Star's ranting again; they just lost another basketball game – she still hasn't figured out how to play. Liz and Patti are at it again – seriously, you would think after their first five failed attempts at giving her a make-over, they would just give up. She doesn't gloat or even smile as she looks up at the announcement board; it reads, "#1 – Maka Albarn. #2 – Ox Ford."_

She sees everyone: Lord Death, Kidd, Crona, Medusa, Stein, her papa, Tsubaki, Black Star, Marie, Liz, Patti… Soul. Soul is present more than anyone else.

She sees everything.

"_My name's Maka, I'm a meister."_

"_Soul, I'm a weapon."_

_And their hands clasped for the first time._

She scans through countless missions: how they met Blair, tangoing with Prof. Stein, their first battle with Crona, Free and her stubborn determination to get stronger, their second battle with Crona, the day they defeated Arachne followed by the day Soul became a death scythe, rescuing Kidd, and their last battle with the Kishin. The film continues with more intimate footage: their first kiss (which she's already seen), an awkward first date followed by an even more awkward explanation to their friends after they'd been caught, the first time they made love. The journey ends with their misfortunate last battle together that sparked this entire chain of events.

* * *

><p>She surfaces slowly. It feels like she's been sleeping for a long, long time.<p>

She's naked, laying on a red-upholstery day bed. She tenderly sits up to take in her surroundings. The light from a doorway beckons her, shining brightly into her sensitive eyes. Shielding her vision, she approaches the doorway slowly, her body stiff and mechanical with disuse.

As she passes into the lit room, the air around her shifts, like she's passed through a barrier, and she finds herself clothed in _her_ black dress. You know what they say, a classic never goes out of style. She's even wearing pigtails with it. The room she's entered is all too easy to recognize: all black and red tile with velvet curtains decorating the parameter, smooth jazz, and an ebony grand piano sitting in the corner.

The Black Room. Soul's soul room.

Maka knows this place better than anything else on earth. Save, of course, for the man whose soul it embodies.

Speaking of Soul, where is that good for nothing death scythe?

"Maka…?"

At, there we go. He's standing against the piano. Maka only wishes she had a camera on her. The face he's making is absolutely priceless, eyes wide, mouth open and she swears he's drooling a little. She'd almost forgotten how sexy he looked in the black suit. My god, it's been far too long since she last _really_ saw him.

"Soul."

Her voice is playful as she says his name. She teasing him, and judging by the face he's giving him, he knows it and is now thoroughly confused by it. Her heels click along the linoleum as she makes her way over to her baffled scythe.

"Maka? How did you-?"

She cuts him off. Her hands grip the lapels of his suit and she engages him in the most soul-searing kiss either one of them have experienced in the last two years. It only lasts for the span of a breath though. Short and fiery, with promises of something more to come. For his part, Soul believes he would be more than content to remain there forever, but she pulls away from him all too soon.

"You really have to ask."

She smiles up at him, a true Maka smile, while he can only stare down at her, shaking his head in disbelief, completely at a loss to what's going on. He may not understand quite yet, but he smirks down at her anyway, a more than familiar glint in his eye that says he's going to go through with whatever she decides just like old times. Oh, she's missed that look.

So as ruby red meets forest green in one reality, in another where only several heartbeats have passed…

Witch Hunter screams into existence.

TBC

Review!


	13. Rock the Casbah

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or anything by the Solar Twins. The song "Rock the Casbah" just fit with this chapter in my head. I don't know what you'll think, but give it a listen; it's a good song.

Warning: The chapter contains content that is not suitable for children under the age of eighteen. If you are uncomfortable reading sexually explicit content, I don't know why you've decided to pick up a story that is rated M, but I have marked the beginning and end of said scene for the benefit of those who would experience discomfort.

Enjoy!

Remember Me

Rock the Casbah

The scream of the blade followed by the shriek of the kishin as the magic of witch hunter slices through its right leg, brings Maka's consciousness back to reality. The beast thrashing about in front of her as it flees before her wrath over the edge of the rooftop. It cries like the wounded animal it is before its wings catch an updraft and send it up into the sky in shaky retreat.

"Soul, we need to fly."

She feels more than sees his shock as it courses over their resonance bond.

"But Maka, you haven't learned how do that yet."

"Trust me, Soul. I know how."

"But Maka…"

"Just do it."

The eye of his haft widens. The single red orb darting from her face to their enemy and back. Their souls are bound so tightly together that she can read his thoughts, his surprise. She sounds just like her old self. She feels like her old self. Has she…? Could it possibly…? He wants to believe it but fear clenches his heart. What if he's wrong and making more out this than it was? Should he dare hope?

She blankets him with an aura of calm and tranquility in an attempt to ease his mounting anxiety, her hand sliding intimately up the haft and avoiding the eye to caress his blade with all the reawakened affection in her spirit.

Despite the fact that there's a raging kishin in front of them. Despite the blood that is dripping lazily down the side of her face. Despite the dirt and grime that covers them both. Despite everything, she turns her head to face his scythe blade looking directly into his seeing eye. Forest green eyes alert with her soul perception seem to glimmer like a cat's in the poor lighting. Maka's determination, her old strength, shines through those eyes.

She smiles at him.

"Trust me. I'm here."

So he does, closing his eyes and letting her lead. And suddenly they're airborne, Maka's hands gripping his handle with confidant knowing fingers. She manipulated his weapon form like the meister she'd been, precision in every movement never faulting, never erring. Her attacks are fluid with a practiced ease that takes years to achieve, something that could never be re-taught in just a few weeks.

The kishin never stood a chance.

It seemed like only a few seconds had passed before Soul is back in his human form savoring the feel of the egg sliding down his throat. She waits for him across the rooftop. It reminds her of a similar scene from their earlier times together, when she'd asked an innocent question about his appetite for souls. This time, though, she can feel that he is the one with the questions, and only she has the answers. But she's pretty sure the dingy rooftop of some downtown building of the darker parts of London is not the best for them to have this conversation.

"Maka, are you…?"

In a bold move, she's made her way across the rooftop and entwined her fingers with his.

"Let's report back to Shinigami-sama."

Soul is nothing but a jumble of thoughts and confusion while she pulls him along the roof and away from the scene of their most recent battle. Her first in over two years. Her first true victory in a long, long time.

* * *

><p>Neither of them speaks on the way to the hotel. He's driving, only half aware of the road in front of him as he continues to process what has just unfolded before his very eyes.<p>

She had felt like Maka again. She fought like her and even acted like her. She'd acted, I mean truly acted, as his meister for the first time since she'd reentered his life, giving him an order and demanding his obedience in following it. She told him to trust her, and he had as though two years of endless solitude and loneliness never happened.

Now, driving past the faceless houses, her arms wrapped snuggly around his chest, she still feels like her, and the consistency of her wavelength never wavers.

He is even fully aware of the link, the bonding of their souls that had developed over the years of their partnership. It is the thread of fine silk that drapes over both of their souls binding them together as partners and lovers and so much more. It's alive again, back and in full swing. It buzzes in the back of his mind at a frequency he hasn't felt since the before accident. It matches that of the days when Soul Resonance was no further away than a sigh from her lips or any harder to reach than with a twitch of his fingers.

Something shifted in her soul to obtain that solidarity. He'd felt it the second they activated Soul Resonance. Like the unfurling of wings, her power reawakened, and he watched in his soul room as the images flew past in a tidal wave of memory. None of them his but all as relevant to him as the air he breathes or the water he drinks. Then she stood before him in the Black Room for the first time in over two years. Her lips assaulting him, her hair held up in pigtails, the black dress made and designed entirely for her and her alone. It all makes his head spin. All the while, one gloved hand, reaching forward to find its rest in his own, all of this lasting one whole second. All of it had only lasted a second. A mere second before Witch Hunter, the signature technique of her mother before her, shrieked into existence, and her hands held him with the certainty of a true scythe meister wielding her weapon.

Where those her memories passing by the doorway of the Black Room?

"Soul, you passed the hotel."

Her voice draws him out of his mental tirade and into the present. She is indeed correct.

"Oh, sorry…"

She shuffles ahead of him on down the hallway. The hotel is old and more than a little dinged up, if the lighting was any indication of that, but there's an elegance about the Middle Eastern resort that hums of old money from years long since passed.

How should he act around her? He has no idea. Will she approach him about it? Probably. I mean it's very likely. Maka was never one to beat around the bush so much so that she often came off as quite blunt in certain situations. He thinks back to the kiss in his soul room. A promise of something more? Oh, god, he doesn't even want to think about the possibilities right now. She's injured for Death's sake. Even if she did try to do something as stupid as… Well, he doesn't know. He's not thinking about it.

Okay, Soul, be cool now. You don't need to be giving yourself an aneurism over this. Maka will explain everything when she's ready, he hopes. Then all his questions will be answered, and maybe he won't feel quite so disoriented once she shows him which direction to take this new development.

Lavish artwork hangs from the walls while the old oil lamps, like really flame lit oil lamps, cast a healthy glow on the walkway all the way to where Maka leans in front of the door to their room waiting patiently.

"Soul…" she calls softly to him.

She sounds tired and maybe even a bit annoyed with his inability to remain focused for more than two minutes at a time, but her overall demeanor is pleasant and refined. She even smiles at him from her position as he shuffles a little quicker along the finely carpeted avenue making his way to her because he has the key to the room and he wonders how she's even standing upright with that horrendous gash in her side.

But his meister has always been stubbornly strong, even when she has no business trying to be. Or should he say strongly stubborn.

"Any day now," she mutters as he fumbles with the keys. She's resting her temple against the doorframe smiling softly, at him.

"Oh, hush," he chides and the door swings open noiselessly.

She immediately slinks around him and heads straight to the bathroom. He follow her in, shredding off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed He hears the water run for several moments before she calls back out to him.

"Soul, I'm calling Lord Death. Get in here."

He frowns. Does she even remember how to call Lord Death?

By the time he gets there, she's already fogged up the mirror with her breath and is tracing the number into the glass.

"42-42-564 whenever you want to knock on Death's door."

The odd ringing noise fills his ears.

"Hello, Lord Death…" she calls. "Meister Maka reporting with Death Scythe, Soul Eater."

Somebody kick him. He's having a serious case of déjà vu.

"Hello, meister Maka- ooh, we're a little rough for wear, aren't we?"

Maka looks down at herself with a small sputter before answer.

"Oh, it's nothing really. It looks worse than it is."

"Soul, how goes it?"

"The mission was a success. Kishin, Qazi Yaseen, is no more."

"Excellent work, you two. I knew you could handle it."

Soul scoffs at the shinigami. Maka's eyes narrow dangerously at her partner.

"Soul, don't be rude," she growls out.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Maka. Soul has every reason to be upset with me. I'll leave him to tell you why. In the meantime, why don't you tell me about the mission? Anything interesting happen?"

"Well, I'm happy to inform you that I have gotten my-"

"MAKA!"

The weapon and meister pair's eyes both widen in sheer horror. Oh, Lord…

It's an explosion sound and red. Maka preps to dives behind Soul, who's already squished himself into the furthest corner from the mirror, and some form of cover. But she's not fast enough. She becomes ensnared in a pair of overbearing, overly excited, overprotective, and overly affectionate arms.

"My Baby!"

Spirit has somehow managed to force his entire upper body through the glass and into the too-small-for-loud-fathers-in-a-wild-tizzy hotel bathroom.

"I know you don't remember me sweetie, but that's okay. Everything is going to be alright. Your papa is here. He shall protect you…"

And he babbles on and on and on…

Soul and Lord Death can only look on, completely helpless to interfere with the smothering of the blonde by an eccentric papa. The man has lost every shred of his dignity, which isn't entirely uncommon with regard to his daughter, but it's hard to watch nonetheless. He's crying and snotting and gushing and touching while Maka just… cries. There are no tears, it's just that inner turmoil that's more like a "please, let this be over quickly" plea. Silently to herself in the avarice of her dad's most recent episode. But she sits still, letting him have his way with her.

She seems to understand his plight this time, and she'd be crazy to deny that she's not at least a little glad to see him after so long. But she kind of has needs.

"Papa… You're strangling me."

"Shinigami CHOP!"

Boink! The red-head is immediately yanked backwards and into the Death Room where he spews blood all over the floor.

"Sorry about that Maka. He just got in."

"It's okay. I'm fine."

"By the way that is-"

"My father," she finishes for the death god. "I know. I remember."

"Oh, really." The god seems to get excited all of the sudden. "I didn't realize you had remembered him. Well, good I'm glad you're making progress in-"

"I actually, remember everything now."

He looks stunned for a moment.

"Really?"

"Yeah, umm. Recent development, actually."

She twiddles with the hem of her skirt as the lord of death raises an imaginary eyebrow at them through the mirror. Soul shifts from one foot to the other feeling more than a little awkward under the scrutiny of his boss.

"I see…"

They can't see it, but you can tell his gaze is passing between the two of them. It sends shivers up and down both of their spines and not in the most pleasant of ways

"Well, then. I can imagine you two have some things you might want to discuss. We'll call back some time tomorrow to check on you. In the meantime, get some rest and, umm. Don't do anything too strenuous on those injuries."

Maka turns bright red. Soul shakes his head at her antics. He can see the red spread all the way to the tips of her ears.

"Tooddeloo."

"Maka! My Maka!"

"Deathscythe get off the mirror. I'm closing the connection."

"B-but my Maka-chan."

"I know. I know, Spirit, but she needs her rest. You'll see her again tomorrow."

And the mirror fades to black though he swears he can still hear Spirit's whimpering fading out in the background. The man could face a thousand and one kishin, witches, zombies, you name it. He can stare unflinching into the angry face of his ex-wife. But he could fall to pieces at the mere sight of his daughter, not that Soul could blame him for that outburst. He can understand that trauma well enough.

Maka slaps her hand to her forehead in tribulation to her father.

"He hasn't changed at all has he?"

Soul closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall with a small chuckle.

"Not too much, no, but I think you'll be happy to find he's not quite the same as he used to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'll find out eventually, I'm sure."

"I guess…" She trails off for a bit her eyes sliding to the gray tile beneath her feet as he studies her with unblinking red marble until she raises her head to speak again. "Soul, I-"

She cuts herself off unable to meet his piercing gaze.

"I should take care of this, huh? Before I get some kind of infection." She tries to laugh off her nerves leaving the bathroom and exiting to the main room, never once looking back up at him.

He shakes his head and follows.

Peeling off the jacket and leather vest, she makes a complete circle around the room gathering various items as she goes. She's a little stiff and wobbly, and her hand never leaves the inflicted area. Now that the coverage of the vest and jacket are out of the way he can see the damage with his own eyes. Her entire left side at the base of the ribcage is a bloody mess of torn cotton and lacerated flesh. He notices, blankly as she nonchalantly reaches into the side pouch of his bag and seamlessly pulls out the first aid kit he _always_ keeps in that pouch.

She stops her walk and looks at him a little shifty, like a toddler about to be scolded. He's blocking her path to the bathroom, so she has no choice to but to heed his presence even though he knows full well she would rather deal with the injury herself. It's not the first time he's witnessed this sort of shy hesitance from Maka; it happens whenever she's been wounded and knows he's going to give her an ear-full.

"Come on," he huffs and pulls her into the bathroom.

He clears a section of the countertop for her and tells her to hop up while he lets the nearby bath run warm as he soaks a hand towel. She can't quite make it up onto the counter, but she's removed what's left of her top and is examining the wound. The bond is presenting as sheepish from her side in a mix of frustration and mild bouts of pain. Their link flairs as he wraps his hands about her thighs and lifts her into position so he can get at the wound.

Just like she'd said to Lord Death, it's not as bad as it looks. The long swipe of the blade across her side has left a single wide gash. He worries that she'll be needing stitches in order for it to heal properly, but after closer inspection it's only a few centimeters deep, nothing to be concerned over, but the healing process would suck if she didn't keep still long enough, and knowing Maka, that was like asking Liz to go a day without any nail polish on.

She only winces a little when he applies antiseptic but other than that sits in silence as he adheres to her side. After a while, she slumps in her seat against the mirror to her back and closes her eyes, and suddenly she is as bone-weary as a lonesome traveler.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't know what think, right now."

She doesn't respond to him, only gives him a small forced smile. Depthless green eyes just stare down at him as finishes in his task. He feels like Crona, right now. He doesn't know what to do with himself around her anymore. Maka has always harbored that uncanny ability to see into peoples' souls. He wonders if she's looking into his soul right now. The thought makes him more than a little uncomfortable.

"There, I'll let you get dressed."

Their link in nothing but a jumbled mess of confusion on her side and inner turmoil on his as he turns tail and runs from her perceptive gaze afraid she'll read something off of his heart that she no longer feels toward him.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Maka is hesitant to exit the bathroom. She's given herself a bit of a sponge bath to get rid of the remaining grime from her body and dressed the remaining less serious injuries scattered about her body: a scraped knee, a small scratch on her cheek, and a split lip. Any bruising has already gone down, her healing abilities as a meister already having seen to the most minor bumps, but she isn't too worried about her physical injuries. No right now she's more concerned with the still bleeding lacerations on her partner's heart.<p>

Soul never ceases to amaze her with his strength of will. His ability to survive the results of that hideous accident two years ago, to catch the curveball of her reappearance coupled with the daunting curse of her amnesia and now this. The miraculous recovery of her memories. His head must be racing at a thousand miles a minute.

She can't even tell what he's thinking, right now. It's all jumbled up.

Taking one last glance at the mirror, she summons up her courage and exits her small sanctuary.

"Soul…" she calls out into the dark. He lounges on the bed, flat on his back, arms pillowing his head. He rolls an eyeball toward her. She has his attention, at least half of it.

"What's wrong?"

He exhales loudly and shuffles into a standing position.

"Nothing, Maka. Don't worry about it."

"You're lying." Her voice is even and un-accusing as though she was simply answering a question in Dr. Stein's class. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing, Maka. I already told you."

"Don't you know you can't lie to someone with an advanced soul perception like mine? Tell me the truth, Soul."

He still hasn't looked at her yet, and she can't quite make out what he's mumbling under his breath. Something about "blunt blondes."

Her patience is thinning and just when it's about to snap, he speaks, and it is probably the most random thing that's has ever come out of his mouth.

"Who was the last person with the same skill in soul perception to detect lies?"

She's a bit taken aback at first, but at least she's got him talking. Might as well humor him.

"Joe Buttataki, Internal Affairs Investigator for Shibusen. He died years ago, though. What does he have to do with anything?"

"Who was the first soul Black Star and Tsubaki ever managed to claim?"

"Tsubaki's brother, Masamune. Soul, what-?"

"What's my older brother's name?

"Wes-"

Her confusion grows.

"What musical note best resonates with your wavelength?"

"What is this? Twenty questions."

"Answer the damn question, Maka."

"Fine it's G. What are you trying to pull here? I already told you I have my memories back. What's with the questions?"

Her temper is rising, but he carries on as though he never heard her.

"What was the name of the book, Kidd was once trapped in?"

"The Book of Eibon. Soul, ple-"

"What day did we defeat the kishin?"

She's had enough. All the questions and he hasn't even spared her a glance over his shoulder. If he's going to do this to her, he's going to look at her.

"You want to know that?"

"Well I asked, didn't I?"

She all but flies across the room in a heartbeat, a testament of only a fraction of her old speed. She pushes him around and looks him straight in the eye, half-shouting her answer.

"It was the last day of winter, March 19th, but you wouldn't be able to tell by the weather. I remember how the fog was so thick we could hardly walk two feet without getting lost, or how the hail came down on our backs during the fight. But go ahead ask me something meaningless again."

The boy is clearly in shock at this outburst. He says nothing, only flaps his jaw like a fish out of water.

"Or maybe I should tell you things you don't even know about. Do you want me to tell you how it felt when the kishin shoved his hand into my chest and tried to pull out my soul? Or how 'bout before that when Crona stabbed me in the back, but I was more worried about you when I lost my grip and you clattered to the floor?"

He flinches as if she's just slapped him.

"Should I go into what we did after? The way we spent hours in bed doing nothing other than just enjoy each others' bodies. That was the memory you tried to hide from Mari, wasn't it Soul?"

Panic floods his entire being. She remembers her memories as Maristella. She remembers that fight, and he's completely escalated this for no other reason than he's a complete idiot who couldn't just accept that she's gotten her memories back. His actions are about to have some serious repercussions if he can't defuse this situation.

"You don't understand. I didn't want-?"

"Didn't want what? You didn't want her to see that that was the first time I told you I loved you. We'd been together like that for a year, and I hadn't said it. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it meant something to me. I just didn't want to have to show you that memory, okay?" His anger is rising now; she's not listening to him, but more than that, his panic is mounting. She's going into hysterics, and she knows it. She doesn't care though, because right now she frustrated with Soul, herself, Mari, and any other being under the sun that's caused this completely pointless confrontation to take place.

"Why not? Didn't you want me to remember that I loved you? Didn't you want me back? Oh, my God…"

Her eyes seem to widen with a realization. She backs away from him slowly, like a wounded animal. He himself is a deer caught in headlights at this reaction. She was just barking in his face; now she looks like she's about to lose it.

_Serious repercussions…_

"You… You didn't want me to remember that."

"That's not true! I just wanted you to find it on your own."

She's not listening. She's turned away from him, one shaking hand clenching her stomach. She's whispering nonstop to herself and he can barely make out the words, but what he can understand stabs him like a knife to the heart. Something that she should have known that he would have moved on and he doesn't need her anymore. She should never have come back. All she's done is make it even more painful for him to find what he needs in a partner elsewhere.

She's taken everything entire wrong. That big brain of hers is on hyper-drive, going at break neck speed in the wrong direction.

He approaches her back, carefully.

"Stop this, Maka!"

"Look, if you don't love me anymore, that's fine. Just…" Her voice is small, fearful. Right now, in this moment, she is more breakable than he's ever seen her before, and he realizes not for the first time, he has the power to make or break this woman. "Just don't treat me like a stranger, okay?"

"Maka…"

"After everything we've been through together…"

"Maka, stop."

"I don't think I could handle that."

"Maka, Stop talking!"

He wraps his hand around her elbow and whirls her around to face him, but she refuses to meet his eyes. He brings a hand to her cheek and lifts her head up to meet his eyes while the other wraps around her waist. She's been trying to hide the tears shimmering in her eyes. His heart clenches. She needs to hear these next words before she kills herself on the inside.

"I still love you, Maka. I couldn't stop loving you if I tried."

She doesn't speak. She might not be able to considering he's jammed her head into chest and locked it in place. At least, she's not struggling anymore.

"I didn't know if you ever would get your memories back, Maka. And as much as it would have killed me to never have you again, I didn't want to inadvertently make you believe something you didn't feel. I swear I wasn't trying to hurt you. I was trying to protect you."

They stand in silence for several heartbeats; the only sound in the room is the ticking of a clock off the bedside table. She shifts in his arms, turning her head so she may speak, and he honestly doesn't know how he didn't see her next words coming.

"Inadvertently, ehh… That's a big word. Where'd you learn that?"

He frowns down at her while she giggles it off. Only nerdy little Maka Albarn would tease somebody about their vocabulary in the middle of an argument, especially when it's with him. The moment is so inexplicitly Maka-like he can't help but laugh and shake his head at her. That was just their way. The tension melts into a comfortable familiar atmosphere between the two of them as she finally wraps her own arms around him.

"You always do that…"

He pulls away, looking at her quizzically.

"Protect me. You always do even at the risk of yourself."

He sighs, running a hand up the side of her face and through her bangs.

"It is a weapon's duty to protect its meister."

She smiles softly at the old logic he's repeated so many times in the past but she's always been too stubborn to listen to, and he knows what he's about to say is totally uncool and cheesy, and he knows he's a hopeless romantic at heart, but Maka will appreciate it. That's all that matters.

"And it's a man's duty to protect his love. …Even if that means from himself."

Her smile widens, and her eyes slide shut as she nuzzles his chest, tears once again blurring her vision. Yup, it was definitely the right thing to say.

"I don't think I could stop either. Loving you, that is."

He smiles down at her, pulling away slightly so he can see her. The hand on her cheek slides downward, raising gooseflesh as his touch ghosts across her skin. His index and middle finger press into the flesh of her sternum lightly as though feeling for her soul. He only watches her for a few moments, gaze centered on where his fingers meet her skin before his burning eyes draw a path to her face.

"It's really you in there, isn't it, Maka?"

She captures his hand at her chest with her own lacing their fingers together. She closes her eyes, loosening the vicariously dangling tears from their handholds. They fall. Lovely and sorrowful as she is, she kisses his knuckles. Salty tears dampen his skin.

She speaks between each kiss.

"Yes. It's me in here. Just me."

Arms tighten, hugging Maka even closer almost as if he was trying to take her into his body, and he rests his chin on her head.

"Two years, Maka… I thought you were dead for two whole fucking years…"

"I know, Soul," she whispers. "I know, and I'm sorry. I wish the whole thing had never happened."

"No, I'm sorry. I should've have protected you better. All this was my fault."

"No, it wasn't, Soul. I was the one. It was me!" Her voice is rising again. "I was the one who hesitated. If I'd just followed after Black Star, none of this would have happened. I was so stupid! I shouldn't have turned my back when I thought something was off. It was reckless of me."

"You're always reckless. You never stop and think when it matters. Never. And it's gotten you in trouble time and time again, but do you ever listen to me? No! Never!"

His grip on her tightens, unwilling to let go. It's not uncomfortable per say, and she doesn't shift or say anything in return. Just let him get it out, she thinks to herself.

"You have no idea what it was like, knowing that I failed in the worse possible way. I didn't almost lose you like when we went up against Asura and Crone. I _had_ lost you! You were gone; for two whole years you were dead and I was nothing but the scum who couldn't protect his own meister, his own girlfriend. Knowing that… It killed me, Maka. If it wasn't for my memory of you, I would have done it. I would have ended it all," he smirked at her. "But I didn't knowing you would disapprove. You would have wanted at least one of us to keep on living."

He's turns his back on her then, taking several steps away. His fists clenched on either side of his body. She can't see him gritting his teeth, but she knows he is. His breathing is ragged from his outburst, and she's sure she's imagining it but his body is trembling as though he is trying to keep himself from crying.

She approaches him slowly and wraps her arms around his waist.

"Soul…"

"Maka…"

She's wrapped herself around him, turning him ever so slightly so she can peer up at his face. She turns him completely, reaching up to place long, delicate fingers on either side of his head. She runs the fingers of her right hand through his white hair and relishes in the silky texture of the locks while she glides another thumb over structure of his cheekbone.

"I'm here, Soul. I have my memories back. I'm not going anywhere."

She lowers her hands, running her fingertips over his jaw, neck, and collarbone, to find their resting place on his chest.

That's when he kisses her.

There is a soft desperation in their kiss from both sides. It's intimate and gentle, full of life and love. The energy coursing between them is enough to fuel an entire city block. It's as though each of them are trying to confirm that the other is really there, alive and accepting. Two years worth of pent up desires pour into the connection, feral, vicious, and oh so unimaginably good. His hands play a wicked melody as he grips her hips and trails them along her sides, careful to avoid her injuries, all the way to her neck and into her hair. He pulls on the hair ties that hold her hair in the braids she's worn since she was christened Maristela Velasquez and releases her long ashy locks. His fingers comb through the silken strands as they circle back around to the front of her neck and down the front of her torso over the soft mounds of her breasts and the smooth dip of her abdomen before breaking away from her wanton lips.

He studies her face for a long moment.

"I thought I'd lost you." His voice is husky, his bedroom voice. She hasn't heard it in so long it sends violent shivers up and down her spine. The link is a torrent of raw emotion from his side: simmering anger (not directed at her but at the bad memories), calming relief, charred frustration (tasting uncommonly of sex), fluttering affection, a spike of lust and she doesn't quite know what he's going to do. All she knows it that it involves her and her body and soul, but she's ready. As she's conditioned herself to be for the hurricane known as Soul Eater Evans.

Her hands grip his shoulders gently but firmly, the fabric of his shirt bunching beneath her fingers.

"But you didn't… Please, Soul, I need you."

And she is needy. Unsteady breathing, a quickening pulse, flushed cheeks, she feels so alive right now she wonders if maybe she has been dead these last two years. If not dead than definitely in a suspended limbo.

So is he. Two years of solitude can do that to a person.

His head dips down claiming her lips once again while fingers unclasp the first two buttons of her blouse. Heated lips zero in on the freshly exposed skin for a surprise assault.

She gasps. She doesn't bother to fight the emotions rising from the most primal recesses of her mind. Words pass through one consciousness into the next: lewd, inappropriate, rakish, debauchery. They all skim the surface but she pushes them away in favor of the man in front of her. He always has had a talent for capturing her attention.

His fingers are hot to the touch against her skin, a sensation she hasn't been able to properly enjoy in so long. More skin is revealed as those burning fingers continue their descent down the front of her body trailing between and over the valley of her breasts and the toned planes of her stomach. He grips her hips and pushes her backwards until her knees collide with the edge of the bed. With one hand supporting the small of her back, he presses her down to lie flat against the mattress.

(Citrus Start)

He's half standing, half kneeling over her, kissing, touching, reclaiming everything he hasn't had in so long. His hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once. Her head is reeling from the dizzying spiral of emotions this roller coaster has become. Pleasure burns deep beneath her flesh, and his hands nurture the flames into a raging inferno in the pit of her belly. She wants him so terribly it hurts. She gains enough sense to move her own hands, pulling on his shirt for leverage so she can sit up never breaking their kiss.

Then her hands are at his waistband, nimble fingers undoing the buckle of his belt and about to move onto the top button of his pants when his hands seal around her thin wrists, halting all her movements.

Green eyes wide, she pulls back to demand an explanation for his behavior, but he shuts her up with another lip-lock before she can even start. He moves over her, his thigh between her legs pushing her backwards closer to the headboard. Her wrists still secure in his palms, he drapes himself over her body, pressing her hands into the pillow above her head, and his teeth assault her neck, nipping a path downward to her exposed chest because he's already decided that if he doesn't have any substantial contact with her tits within the next few minutes all hell will break loose. So as his mouth closes over her left nipple and his left hand takes both of hers in its hold, the fingers of his right hand kneed and massage the flesh of her right teat.

The heady sensations are enough to blanket her in a drunken haze. She's blushing like a virgin. Mewling like one too, he notes. Her legs quiver incessantly on either side of his thighs as his mouth delves attention to her other breast, his hand now venturing further south.

"Soul…" she husks.

Shinigami-sama, he's missed that sound. His lips release her breast with a scandalous smacking noise, and he claims her swollen lips again, now releasing her trapped limbs to wrap his now free arm around her lower back. She so caught up in sensation, she doesn't even realize that her protective tights have magically been stripped from her body until his fingers nimbly play with the fabric of her panties before one of those oh so musically inclined digits slides home into her heated core followed quickly enough by one of its cohorts.

But somehow the friction, however delicious it may be, is just not for her lust-induced state.

Her now freed hands clasp the hem of his shirt and yank upward only to have the material catch underneath his armpits, but he gets the message. He sits up with a smirk and finishes the job she started, tossing the fabric to the edge of the bed.

She follows him up rising up to her knees, hooking her hands onto his abs and latching onto his neck with her mouth greedily. God, when did she get so, so… ugh. She hasn't behaved like this since… Well since that time in Rio when it was just the two of them on a mission. She blames him for that. He told her to try an oyster despite her hatred for raw fish, and despite her reserves for it, she caved and swallowed the damn thing. If only she'd known how potent and aphrodisiac shellfish could be. Ah, that was a good night.

He growls deep in his chest when she bites down on the skin just above his collarbone. She's too busy giggling at his reaction to notice his hands finding purchase on the inside of her knees.

"I don't think so."

And he pulls, her legs flailing out from under her to wrap across his chest. She lands with a muffled shriek on the pillows, momentarily stunned. It gives him all the time he needs to peel her panties off and push her skirt up over her stomach, and she turns a beautiful shade of strawberry when she realizes just how open and exposed she is to him at the moment. She covers her face in the mortification of it all.

"Don't hide yourself from me, Maka."

He pulls her hands from her face and stretches them out along the sides of her body where he keeps them on lock down with his own larger paws, delivering a symphony of kisses winding from her lips down her body all the way to her most intimate of places.

He steals the breath from her lungs and any rational thought she has left vacates out the nearest window.

Her hands twine in the sheets below her. White knuckles straining through the pleasure of his ministrations, she is helpless to the tidal waves of euphoria cascading over her head and winding through her senses. The devil's tongue laps at her depths and her hips itch to move with his seduction, but he holds her still for his purposes, his arms now encircling her thighs.

She's always had amazingly strong legs, sinewy and miles long. They are easily her best physical trait, and her deadliest. Right now he's have quite a time fighting to hold her still, arching and moaning beneath him the way she is. She nearly slithers away from completely when he sucks viciously in just the right place. But he is ruthless in his onslaught against her liquid heat with his tongue, claiming total dominion over her folds.

He smirks as another high pitched gasp escapes through her teeth. Between his level of skill and her sensitivity, this won't take him long at all.

He nips and lashes at her, his tongue drawing lazy laps around her clit pushing her closer and closer to the edge, until she is practically sobbing in his hands, and when his fingers dance within her heat again her whole world zeros in on him and what he's doing to her before it all slides off her foundation, and she's coming so hard, she rocks into his sinfully sweet mouth.

"Soul!"

He's lapping up her ambrosia as her muscles unravel from their previous convulsion. Drinking in all she has to offer him for his labor like a sugary nectar from the basin of Mt. Olympus. It's obscene, the noises he makes as he finishes, licking his lips and murmuring "itadakimasu" under his breath. I'm sure if she focused on them she would be knocking him into next week, but she's too far gone too even notice.

(Citrus End)

Basking in the afterglow of her orgasm, she's barely conscious of a soft tinkling sound coming from the foot of the bed. It isn't until Soul weight and warmth have disappeared entirely from her form that she lethargically slides her eyes to his position, now standing at her feet. He's smirking at her as he buckles his belt.

"What are you…?"

"What's it look like I'm doing, Maka?" he drawls slipping his shirt back over his head.

"But you're still… I thought… We…"

Her face is bright as a tomato now. Some of it is what's left over from her orgasm, an afterglow as it were, but the vast majority is a brand new flush of embarrassment and apparent confusion. Oh, he loves it when she's flustered.

"Not tonight, Maka," he whispers as he crawls back over her. She pulls her legs to the side of him. A plight to save some of her dignity, no doubt. The bond is palpable on his senses, the taste of it sweet and savory. He relishes in it though the emotions he read from her are anything by delicious. Her heart flutters with doubt and confusion. Well, they might be deliciously laughable considering she's read his actions completely the wrong way.

"W-Why? I mean, d-do you not want to?"

She doesn't understand. He's still hard. She can feel the heat of it on the outside of her thigh, so what was the matter? Did she do something wrong, I mean? Is he rejecting her? Oh, God does really he not want her anymore?

All this he feels from her in waves, and he can't suppress the laugh that rises from his belly any longer, while she just stares at him, mouth agape and cheeks flushed. His meister is without a doubt a fucking genius. On the battlefield or in the classroom, you name it, but sometimes she could be soooo stupid. She should be careful giving him a face like that, he might do something, ehem, ungentlemanly.

"Maka, baby," he hushes cradling her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Believe me. I want to."

"Then, why aren't we?" She sounds more than a little put off now.

"Have you looked at yourself recently?" he continues.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

He only sighs now. She's taken this completely the wrong way, and he finds himself asking, not for the first time, "How can you be so smart yet so clueless at the same time, Maka?"

She sputters further at him.

His shushes her with a chaste kiss on the lips, his free hand coming up to rest gently at her bandaged side. At some point in their little tryst, the cut must have reopened, for blood has seeped through the binding, the red peeking out in splotches through the fabric. He lets it coat his fingers before squeezing ever so slightly. It doesn't hurt her all that much, but the spark of pain is enough to have her gasp away from his mouth.

"That's what I mean," he deadpans. "You're injured right now, and I'm not going to do anything that might make it worse."

She sighs, two parts disappointment – one part defeat. She knows he's making the right call.

"Besides," he continues with a devious glint in his eye. He leans in close to her ear, making sure she doesn't miss a word of what he's about to say. "When I take you for the first time in two years, I want you in top physical condition, ready for me. 'Cause when I'm finally buried deep inside your tight, wet heat, I'll be pounding you so hard, you'll be screaming my name loud enough to rouse the dead."

He's stunned her into silence. She's frowning at him, of course, but all she gives is a small gulp in anticipation, and his smirk could shame the devil himself. Lecherous, is the only word in her vocabulary she can use to describe that look. A sharp slap to her thigh jerks her out of her trance. Now all she does is glare at him.

"Pervert!" she shouts at him as he dodges a swipe aimed for his head. The move is awkward as he has to deal with a slight discomfort in his nether regions which she's more than aware of. Internally, she debates whether or not she should help him with that. A glance down and she decides to take pity on him. Mindless, horny idiot though he may be; he is her mindless, horny idiot, and he's currently sporting the erection of the century. She's allowed to take pity on him.

She grabs for his belt again.

"Well, let me, at least-"

"I don't think so," he chides pursing her lips between his fingers. If looks could kill, her eyes would have set him aflame a long time ago. "See you have a split lip-"

"I didn't say I want gonna use my mouth, you idiot!"

"And in case, you didn't notice," he continues as if she didn't speak, holding up his bloodied hand. "You're bleeding again."

Properly chastised, she moves his hand away from her face with a grimace.

"I guess, I should rewrap that," she utters sheepishly.

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"You think?"

"Oh, get off me," she scoffs, pushing him none too gently.

"Hehe, yes, my meister."

He rolls onto his back, laughing. He can hear her cursing under her breath as she makes her way to the bathroom pulling her top closed. He throws an arm over his face heaving a deep exhalation. He takes the moment to calm himself, forcing his blood to reroute the circulation to a more or less normal state and noting with slight distaste that he still reeks of kishin blood and downtown Jerusalem.

He needs a shower bad, but things are looking up.

Maka's memories are her own once again. They defeated a kishin together for the first time in years. They've completely reestablished their relationship, save for one last physical enjoyment they _will_ be sharing as soon as she's completely healed. He's proud to say he's given her a mind-blowing orgasm, and he now has a flustered, frustrated, and slightly peeved meister tethering around their bathroom. How's that for an accomplishing day.

And he can't help but think, as he gets up and follows his partner into the bathroom (to wash his hands) how much lighter he feels knowing she's safe, albeit a little battered, and here with him.

"Get out, Soul! Don't you know how to knock!"

"Oh, please, as if I haven't already seen everything already, tiny-tits."

"Makaaaa-CHOP!"

And once again, everything is right with the world.

TBC

I hope you enjoyed that. There are some mistakes. If you spot them please let me know, my beta didn't get to read this before publication. I was just so excited to get this out to you all.

Review!


	14. Alech Taadi

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or the chapter title song, Alech Taadi. That is by Cheb Khaled, and you may have heard it off the Fifth Element Soundtrack.

Author's Note: We are almost finished with this adventure, my dear readers. There's not too much left to go. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Nothing too explicit in here, and I did a bit of research for a couple of the scenes in here. Jerusalem is quite the fascinating place.

Enjoy!

Remember Me

Alech Taadi

The first thing she's aware of as she wakes is the god awful pain in her side. It feels like someone has permanently inserted their fingertips in the wound and every time she breathes it's like her tormentor gives the digits a good wiggle as a way to say, "haha, that's what you get for being stupid." She doesn't even want to ponder the daunting idea of getting out of bed and actually walking anywhere, but then again, why would she want to go anywhere else when you consider where she currently lies?

Soul is still sound asleep behind her.

His breath tickles her ear and his long, lanky arms are warm around her waist. She resists the urge to follow him back into the dark comfort of slumber and rolls over to face him, the pressure eases the throb in her side quite nicely. His scent surrounds her, and she basks in the musky smell of his cologne and body wash. He still uses the same one from years ago.

She doesn't go back to sleep, though, just breathes.

She simply rests her head awkwardly against his shoulder. The position careens her neck and she's sure she'll have a crink in the muscles if she stays like this too long, but she doesn't really give a damn. She can hear his heart like this as she dozes in and out of consciousness. The steady rhythm, her only grasp on reality until he takes a deeper breath than necessary for slumber. The action moves her entire upper body with the strength of the simple rise and fall of his chest.

"Maka…"

A pair of lazy red eyes lolls open in her direction; she angles her head so she can see his face, all scruffy and etched with sleep.

"Morning…"

Soul's never been a morning person. He grumbles "G' morning" to her, eyes rolling as he takes in the still darkened sky with an aloof annoyance, and he sits up as though trying for all the world to figure out why the heck he's awake before sunrise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she provides trying to quell his confusion.

"You didn't. I just don't know what did."

She's delightfully amused when he makes a face like he's just sucked on a lemon. He frowns, indignant, down at her in annoyance when he feels it through the bond. But she just cuddles herself further into the down of the pillows and closes her eyes in suppressed glee. He eventually concedes the point and dragging a hand through his bed-mangled hair, yawning without covering his mouth. She could've probably counted his teeth in that moment alone if she'd felt so inclined.

"What time is it, anyway?" he finally gurgles, settling back down into the warmth of the mattress.

"Early… or really, really late, depending on how you look at it."

He seems to chew on that information for a thoughtful second.

"Too early to get up?"

"Probably," she answers, but they're both too horribly jet-lagged from their trip the day before that she's pretty sure neither of them really want to go back to sleep no matter what the time is. But Soul has always been one to take up the time.

"Good," he declares and plops back down, gracelessly onto his side next to her. She grunts as the motion jostles her up into the air slightly and back into the mattress, a twinge of pain dancing along her ribs. One callous hand snakes up her bare leg and under her (his?) blouse while the other dips underneath her hip and gently pulls.

"Soullll?" she whines at him as his head dips into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"Hmm?" he hums into her skin. His hands are something wicked on her, and as much as she may want to humor him, the fingers in her ribcage are now using her insides as a drum and playing tendrils of pain up and down her senses. Soul's hand stops in its trail up her spine as he reaches the edge of the thin fabric that wraps around her back and chest. After a quick glance at her face, he begins kneading the tender flesh with his fingertips.

She appreciates the attention, and the gesture is actually relieving some of the burn and itch starting to swell from the wound.

"How are you feeling?" he asks pulling the shirt up and pushing her over just so, so he can inspect the wrappings. No new blood has seeped through the white, thankfully, but she's certain he's wondering if she should change the bandage anyway. Her medical knowledge, however, tells her she has a few more hours before she has to even start thinking about it.

"I'm okay. My side hurts, but it's nothing I can't sit through."

"I think we should re-bandage it. You might've pulled a-"

"Shh…" She hushes his starting monologue with a chaste kiss. It seems to work. "Trust me, it's fine. Just a bit tender is all."

She's lying through her teeth, and she knows he can feel her discomfort through the bond, but she also knows that all she needs to cope with the pain is the tiny bottle of pain-killers sitting innocently in Soul's bag.

"But you-"

"Look, all I need is a couple of pain-killers and I'll be fine, I promise."

He's skeptical, but he believes her, for now at least. He gets up slowly, disentangling himself from her and drags himself to the bathroom where she hears running water for a few seconds. Then he's back, glass of water in hand and fishing out two tablets for her to swallow. She accepts the offering gratefully, sitting up to guzzle down the water and pills while he sneaks back in bed.

"Are you sure that'll be alright?" he asks as she sets the glass on the nightstand.

"Soul, I'm a nurse practitioner. I think I know how to handle this stuff," she chides him snuggling back into the warmth of the covers.

"Oh, yeah. You also have a track record for doing stupid things such as… Hmm, let me think. Wanting to have sex despite a serious injury!"

"You started it…" she grumbles at his leering face.

"Hnhnhn… I also finished it, remember?" He plants another kiss on her lips thinking to charm away her scowl. He deepens the kiss pushing just a little further.

_Ggggrrrrrr…_

"Uh…"

Soul's face skips right over pink heading straight into something remotely cherry flavored. Maka clamps a hand over her mouth in a sad attempt to stifle her laughter.

"Hahaha, so that's why you woke up."

"Shut up, Ma-"

_Growl_

And thus her body betrays her. Maka, now thoroughly cowed, flushes from head to toe. She practically feels the heat rising from her skin. Oh, this isn't embarrassing at all.

It's his turn to bust out in cackles.

She nudges him away from her, but he fails to take a hint and go away. He just curls around her, throwing a leg over her hip to keep her from wiggling away from his teasing. All the while she just keeps slapping him in the chest and head butting him

"Well, I know what I'm hungry for, but I can't be sure what it is you're craving."

"Pervert! And get off me; your face itches!"

He laughs harder, rubbing his whiskered jaw harder against her cheek leaving an irritated red blot. She struggles through the ordeal he's putting her through until she finally plants a hand on his face and shoves with enough force to send him toppling backward off the bed. So there he is, legs still tangled in the sheets on the bed, half-hanging off the mattress laughing like a mad hyena.

She crawls on all fours to the edge of the bed and launches an arsenal of pillows at his head.

"It's not that funny! And I'm hungry for food, you jackass!"

She looks absolutely ridiculous. Bright crimson, erubescent, and flustered the way she is with a decoration of slightly darker cerise patches of skin courtesy of Soul and hair nothing but a halo of tangles around her head. Don't forget the angry agitation shining in olive green eyes. She's never more gorgeous than when riled up.

He shakes his head.

"It seems we both agree on something at least."

It takes some effort but he manages to untangle himself and make his way to standing. She sits back on her heels as he inspects her up and down. The button down blouse she wore to bed has somehow managed to unbutton in the small skirmish and now hangs loose on either side of her torso, one side falling clean off her shoulder. It gives him clear view of her pink cotton panties and the thick wrap across her chest.

He notices, with a pang of guilt, that the carefully tied bandages have begun to unravel.

"You're wrap's come undone."

She puts a hand to her side, wincing ever so slightly.

"Yeah…"

He holds his hand out to her, looking sheepish.

"Come on," he mumbles guiltily. He should've known better than to play rough with her so early.

She shakes her head at him with a sigh but gratefully takes his hand and allows him to corral her toward the bathroom and the first aid kit.

They keep an easy conversation as he tends to her again.

He hopes she won't need stitches. The now scabbing gash was pulled in the night and the blood oozes out thinly, hardly any need to cause for worry. The inside of the bandage is only faintly pink. She says she doesn't think so, but she does know of something that can help the wound heal a little faster. A particular type of salve she can use to quell the pain and itch. He volunteers to get it for her if she wants it. After all, it's his fault the scab pulled. She chides him for feeling guilty. It's not his fault, she's the one that got injured in the first place, and she's not even one hundred percent sure the wound ever really stopped bleeding last night. She made the bandages extra thick so the blood wouldn't seep into the bedding.

Once that ordeal is over and done with, the following scene is endearingly domestic and normal. Teeth are brushed, hair is tamed, and before Soul continues on by shaving the stubble from his face, he shoos Maka back to bed before she can even think about changing out of her sleep clothes and calls for room service – it is now an acceptable time to be awake, the sun just barely greeting the horizon, and thankfully, the hotel starts breakfast early. Not twenty minutes later, she (to Soul's distain) answers as it knocks at the door. Their breakfast consists of Arabic coffee, flat bread, an assortment of fruits and jams, and weird cottage cheese fixture.

They eat in bed, catch a few more z's after their meal, and it's around late-morning, the sun well on its way to peeking in the sky, by the time Soul gets back up to dress, much to Maka's chagrin. He prances about, pulling on a white button down and beige slacks all the while reciting instructions to her, never once allowing her to get up.

The majority of her day would be spent in bed, (and no, not like _that_) Soul declares. She is helpless to argue under his iron fist. It didn't matter how much she whines at him, trying to convince him to allow her outside with him. Her adamant complaints and requests are virtually steamrolled by the vast fields of willpower her weapon's stubbornness seems to hail from.

And so she lounges on her back in bed at his command, surrounded by far too many pillows and far too much sickeningly sweet overly protectiveness for one person while he putters about collecting everything he'll need for his solo excursion. She's aggravated and itching for a fight. She can't help but feel a little jealous of him. He gets to at least see the city.

She scowls when he threatens her.

"If I come back and find you've moved from this bed for any reason other than to use the bathroom, your ass is mine. Understand?"

It's just too easy. She has to bite. She grins at him, a need for revenge shinning in her eyes; it's almost enough to unhinge him.

"I thought my ass was already yours."

He blinks at her long and hard, processing her words as he crawls up her before mumbling to himself in exasperation.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

"I'm sure I can give you a few ideas."

"Oh, I'm sure you could." He traps her head between him arms, letting his body blanket her. "But you won't be sharing those with me until I get back and find you in this bed like the good little girl I know you are," he teases pressing his nose and forehead into hers.

"But it's boring laying around by myself," she whines.

"I know," he affirms. "I'll be back soon."

"You have thirty minutes before I get up and follow you."

He doesn't take her seriously. Well, he never does, does he?

"Whatever, Maka."

He plants a kiss on the tip of her nose and backs up before she can slug him for being cute. Instead, she sits up and manages to land a light kick on his retreating derriere. He placates her with promises of reading material and requested medical supplies, picking up his jacket, and when the door closes behind him she huffs, throwing herself back into the down, ready to wait out the day. Or at least the next couple of minutes.

If Soul thought she was just going lay around in bed all day over a not-so-alarming injury, he had another thing coming to him. Oh, she'll behave for a while, sure. She told him. He didn't listen, but she'll be true to her word. She can give him that much. He was just being an unreasonable, paranoid boyfriend. It was sweet in a domineering sort of way. She can appreciate that. In fact, she'll give him an extension on time.

Forty-five minutes. She'll 'behave' for another forty-five minutes.

But so help her, if he wasn't back here in forty-five minutes she was getting up and getting dressed. Look at her being all rebellious and independent.

* * *

><p>"Don't they have anything in English?"<p>

Soul is frustrated.

He's been out and about for just over an hour and he's more than a little anxious to get back to the hotel. She _had_ told him thirty minutes, and he knows that Maka doesn't bluff. She may make a feint every so often, but she never bluffs.

However, in this case, he sincerely hopes she was bluffing not only for her physical sake but also on behalf of his mental health. With the way his temper was rising in this desert heat, the hypothetical shit shall hit the hypothetical fan.

Maka's salve had been easy enough to find. The Shuk, an outdoor marketplace popular in Jerusalem, is home to a plethora of shops dedicated to herbs and unconventional medicine. He even found a neat café he had half a mind to grab lunch from. He has half a mind to let Maka out of bed to go eat there. It wasn't too far from the hotel, and though she is mostly a home-body, more than content to stay in during the evening, she tends to go stir crazy when she's forced to stay inside.

The only thing keeping him from heading back to the hotel is that damn book.

He finds himself in a sweltering hot, dingy little book shop at the far end of marketplace surrounding their hotel. There's no AC and he swears he's the only idiot actually looking for a book in the mess. Now, he may not frequent bookstores and libraries as much as his partner, but he has a general understanding that these types of places functioned under a sort of catalogued order. You know: alphabetical, genre, fiction, non-fiction. This place however completely lacked any type of logical organization, at least that he could find. He found a copy of Bram Stoker's _Dracula_, in French of all things, next to a book titled, _A Twentieth Century Analysis of Geo-political Shifts in South Africa_.

He doesn't know. Maybe they're trying to say that South African politics suck and have an opposition to God and garlic.

Scanning the rows and rows of books, you would think he would be having an easier time finding something appropriate to add to Maka's mile-long reading list. Keeper of too much information, he knows exactly which books she already owns, seeing as each and every one of them as either collided with his skull or been left out where innocent bystanders may unceremoniously stub their toe. The only problem is, everything is in Hebrew, and he's fairly certain that, although she's been dabbling in Spanish over the last two years and could very easily be bilingual as of yet, she does not speak Arabic. Let alone would she be about to read it.

The poor book currently in his hand is about to burst into flames under the ferocity of his glare. He better find something in English soon, or… well he doesn't know yet. Better not to push his luck.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He jerks himself out of his plotting to find the store keeper standing beside him. She's a small woman covered in a shroud of Muslim tradition. From what he can see of her face, mostly just the eyes, she's fairly young. Not too much older than him but he really can't be sure.

"Uh… yeah. Do you have any books in English?"

"Oh, yes. This way."

She leads him to a secluded corner of the shop. He's thankful to see that all the books in this particular corner are indeed in his native tongue, and he can actually read the summaries. The book keeper stays nearby though, making light conversation. He finds himself not minding so much. At least, she isn't flirting with him.

"Is there anything you're looking for in particular?"

"It's for my partner. She's a bit of a bookworm."

"Partner?" she probes delicately.

"Partner, girlfriend, you could call her one or the other," he explains. "She's back at the hotel bored out of her mind."

"Oh, I see," she says, eyes crinkled in a smile. "Why didn't she come with you?"

He answers smoothly, reading off the back of a hopeful buy.

"I made her stay in bed. She got injured on our mission yesterday."

"Mission? Oh, you must be from Shibusen then. I didn't know there was a… what are they called again?"

"A kishin."

"That's right. I didn't know one of those was in the area. Should we be worried?"

"No, we took care of it last night."

"Oh, good. My husband would lock me up for months, if he ever found out something like that was in the area."

She laughs it off.

"I'm Leila by the way. And you are?"

"Soul, and I think I'm gonna be taking this one," he answers, presenting a hardcover that looks thick enough to last Maka at least until tomorrow depending on how much she decides to be a bookworm.

She takes the book from him.

"Alright, I can ring you up over here."

And he's following her again, this time to the front of the store.

"So Shibusen, huh? Have you and your partner been together long?"

"Well we've been partners since we met. We were twelve, and we became a bit more than that a few years later. I'd just turned sixteen, I think. She was fifteen."

She rings up the book charge, typing away at the cash register.

"How old are you two now?"

He blinks, momentarily fielding the question in slight shock. He really hadn't been thinking about it until now.

"She'll be twenty in about a month…"

"Wow, that's a long time. You two must be really close." She places the book on the counter. "That's $11.60."

"Yeah, well everyone has their rough patches."

He hands her the appropriate amount of bills, never quite noticing when the front door chimes in announcement of a new patron. He lifts the book off the countertop as Leila greets the new arrival while she measures his change.

"Ah, welcome. I can help you in a moment."

"No, that's alright," an easily recognizable voice greets his ear. "I found what I'm looking for."

He whirls around, sputtering.

"Maka! You're supposed to be in bed."

"I gave you more than thirty minutes," she deadpans taking the few bills Leila has been holding out for a few awkward seconds now. "Sorry about that. My partner gets side-tracked easily."

"Maka," he growls. She only smiles at him as he takes the change from her hand and stuffs it into his wallet. Leila only smiles at the interaction between the two.

"I take it this is your partner?"

"Yeah, this is her, and she's so unbelievably stubborn, she's going to walk herself into an early grave."

"Oh, shh, I'm fine." She turns to Leila, holding out her hand with a bright smile on her face. "I'm Maka."

"Leila," replies the cashier, taking the blonde's hand. "Your partner here was telling me a bit about you."

"Was he now? Well I bet he told you about how much of a pain in the neck I can be."

"I was getting to that. Now let's go. Thank you, Leila. Have a good day." He grips her by the shoulders, spins her around and starts walking her toward the door as she protests and struggles all the while. The woman just laughs at the pair's antics.

"You're very welcome."

"It was nice meeting you, Leila!" she manages to call out before Soul pushes her out the door and into the street.

"You too, Maka! Oh, wait, Soul!"

"Hm?"

"A woman came in here by herself the other day. She said she was from Shibusen too, but she told me she wasn't here on any kind of business. Just kind of passing through, but she said she'd be here a few days. I don't know if you might want to meet up with her."

Soul raises an eyebrow.

"Did she say what her name was?"

"No, but she looked an awful lot like your partner. I thought I'd mention it."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.

He grins at Leila with a nod and throws a 'later' over his shoulder with a good natured wave.

* * *

><p>By the time he's exited the shop, she's several paces away from him, making her merry little way down the street.<p>

"Care to explain to my why you left the hotel?"

"I was bored and wanted to see the city," she offers twiddling her fingers through some of the ivy on a nearby wall. She certainly sounds bored enough.

"Oh, really, and what about what I told you?"

He yanks her around by the arm and presses her against the vine.

"What about what you told me?"

Oh, she wants to play coy now, does she?

"Really. I guess my threats just weren't scary enough."

"What are you going to do, Soul? Spank me. I don't know if I'm into that kind of thing."

She thinks it's pretty funny watching Soul change colors. Whenever he's this frustrated with her, she can read him as well as a mood ring, but him being in a mood wasn't going to get her what she wanted at the moment, so it would probably be a good idea to call a truce for the time being.

"Look, if I say I'm sorry, will you let it go, so we can enjoy the rest of the day. I promise you can yell at me later."

He looks her over, searching or any signs of deceit, but she's being one hundred percent sincere in this. The last thing she wants to deal with right now is an aggravated Soul. It's their last day in the Middle East and she was going to enjoy it damn it. She's certainly dressed for the occasion, more than mindful of the carefully maintained traditions on the conservative city streets of Israel. A pair of blue jeans and a pink, lacy tank top with her black jacket over for modesty's sake. She even has a blue scarf wrapped around her neck and head in acknowledgment of the tradition concealing as much skin as possible.

"Fine, I'll let it slide, but you're paying for lunch."

Fine by her, she thinks as he storms off in a random direction. She races to catch up to him taking hold of his arm once she reaches him; he counters the movement, circling his arm around her head and shoulders to wrap around her waist and pull her in close. As such they set about the day, looking every bit the part of a pair of young lovers.

* * *

><p>When you think of Jerusalem, what do you imagine? Dusty gravel streets, crumbling architecture, maybe the mosque or the wall, a blistering sun. You might think of a city worn and weary with the scars of thousands of years worth of crusades and religious strife. A place of prophets and miracles. Where Jesus Christ died on the cross and Muhammad ascended to heaven. Countless lives lost within the walls of a city still fought over by three differing religions.<p>

You would not be wrong to imagine these things, but the sights Soul and Maka take in that day are far beyond such shallow visions.

Maka knows it as a place of literary marvels. From here originated the New Testament of God's Bible, the Quran, and the Torah. Living in Mexico under Catholic teachings of the couple Velasquez, she was taught all about Christianity, not just the meanings of it but the belief behind it. Anyone can understand a religion. But it takes a special kind of teaching to instigate belief. She had been baptized under their care, her sins washed from her mortal soul. Did that mean everything was a clean slate? Was she a born again virgin? Probably not, considering what Soul did just the night before.

She does not know if she would ever consider herself a Christian. As the call to prayer sounds at various intervals in the day, she finds herself pondering over this. She was not raised under any spiritual teaching. Being a child of mixed origins, Japanese and Caucasian, things kind of get lost in translation from one parent to the other. Not to mention, her boss is a god. Hell, one of her best friends is as well, for all intents and purposes, and she's not even talking about Black Star's, in her opinion, unhealthy obsession with godhood.

She doesn't know. Her entire day could probably be consumed with the question if Soul hadn't been on hand to whisk her away to the next sight within a moments notice.

They seek refuge in the beautiful city skyscrapers; race through seas of color along the cobblestone paths of one of the city's many bazaars. You can see the great Mosque from any high point in the city. The Holy city is alive with magnificence, and before they know it, the sun is falling below the horizon and it's well past dinnertime, yet they still haven't eaten.

They walk through the gardens at the borders of the city near the Western Wall and take in the sophistication of Jerusalem's Night Garden, a solar powered exhibit of electronic flowers and sculptures – they can't fully appreciate it as the red glow of the skylight hinders the luminescence, but it's still a sight to behold. Thankfully they aren't too far from a dining district as the two finally realize that despite the snacking they've done on various local foods, they haven't eaten an actual meal since breakfast.

Soul leads Maka back to the café he found near the hotel. On the way there, however, her all-seeing green eyes spy a spice shop, she's immediately intrigued.

"Soul, hold on a second. I'm going to buy some spices."

"Ugh, Maka," he whines. "I'm dying of hunger."

"Oh, you can't be that hungry. You ate a whole bag of dates not thirty minutes ago."

"Fruit can only hold a man over for so long, woman."

"Just wait a second. We're out of the spices I need to make fish. Isn't that one of your favorite meals?" she tacks on coyly.

Any prospect of Maka cooking him fish in the future is enough to quell his impatience for at least a few minutes, and she's knows she's won this round, so she shoos him off.

"Go ahead, and I'll catch up in a few."

He does as he's told only looking back once to make sure she's alright. By this time the steady flow of bodies often present during the day has eased. He doesn't have to push his way through the masses, and he can actually get a better view of his surroundings. The sights are pretty cool between the street lighting and the architecture. But even more amazing to him is the balm of soft jazz that coats his senses, and he finds himself drawn to a jazz bar barely opening its doors to the nightlife. The music is strange, rising and falling in a cantor similar in style to western jazz but with a very Arabic quality to the instrumentation.

He wanders a little closer finding a comfy resting place against a nearby lamppost to lean against. He rests his head back and closes his eyes content to just listen as the time passes while Maka gets her spices.

"Soul Eater! Is that you?"

"Hah?"

A single eyeball wiggles around in its socket looking for the source of the most recent disturbance. It, or should he say she, is walking toward him from inside the jazz bar. He can only gawk at the pair of green eyes nearly identical to his meister's making their way toward him.

"K-Kami!"

"Oh it is you! Come here!"

He finds himself suddenly overtaken by a whirlwind of bustling fabric and deceptively strong arms. She hugs him tightly only for a moment before backing up and releasing him. She smiles warmly at him.

"How are you? Are you here on a mission?"

As opposed to Spirit, who threatened bloody-murder upon hearing word of his and Maka more than platonic relationship, Kami had been ecstatic in the knowledge that her daughter had finally taken the steps to deepen the bond between her and her weapon. It helped immensely that she actually liked him, so much so that upon Maka's 'death' she'd gone about treating him as a mourning son-in-law. Hell, she treated him like her own flesh and blood.

"I'm great actually. We just wrapped up our last mission."

"'We?' You got a new partner?"

She looks a bit taken a back for a moment, and before he can offer an explanation.

"Well, not so much-"

"You can tell me all about them over dinner. How about it? My treat. There's this great little café just down the road…"

The woman starts pulling him still chattering away at him before he can even answer her properly. He has to dig his heels into the ground just to avoid being dragged off because Maka's wavelength is prodding at his, searching for his whereabouts. She's only about two seconds away from finding them.

"K-Kami, if you'll just wait a moment. I think there's someone else here who would like to see you."

She looks at him puzzled for a moment before looking around as though looking for some new person to arrive.

"Oh, is your partner here somewhere?"

"Well, you see, she's-"

"Soul, who are you talking to?"

The younger blonde is running to catch up to Soul, a bag of spices clenched to her chest as she goes; she can't really see who he's talking to though, just a head of sandy blond hair. Kami looks completely aghast, staring at Soul.

"Maka…"

He nods slowly with a small smile gracing his features as he turns toward his meister.

"Soul?" calls the meister again.

Kami, on the other hand, can see Maka coming. Her eyes widen with a gasp, tears immediately flooding her vision. She looks back and forth between Soul and the seeming phantom sprinting across the walk, dodging locals.

Soul steps out of the way, giving a clear view between the two meisters. The shock stuns Maka to stillness, halting in her tracks. Their eyes meet from across the causeway, and time stands still.

"Ma-Mama!"

She runs straight past Soul and into her mother's waiting arms, tears now streaming freely down the elder woman's face. Soul doesn't have it him to keep watching this heartfelt reunion of mother and daughter.

"Maka, my baby girl," Kami whispers against her daughter's hair, lips brushing the crown of the young woman's head, arms tight around Maka's shoulders.

"It's okay, mom. I'm here. I'm right here," consoles the scythe meister, her arms wrapped loosely around her mother's waist, and steadily enough Kami's tears begin to dry as she basks in the purifying aura of her blood once again. She finally pulls away holding Maka by the shoulders within arms' breath. She cradles Maka's face in her hands, and he doesn't think he's ever seen a woman smile quite so brightly in his life.

"You've grown taller."

Maka laughs under her breath.

"I haven't really noticed."

Kami's hand slides down Maka's face onto her shoulder while she coos to herself over Maka's appearance.

"My beautiful girl's alive."

She suddenly looks to Soul then back at Maka.

"How is this possible?"

Maka looks apologetic, Soul thoughtful.

"It's a long story."

Maka's voice is a little pained as she answers. Kami's stare hardens into the same determination Maka shows whenever she's facing a tough enemy or wrangling swelling emotions.

"Tell me everything," she announces at last, taking Maka by the hand and leading her (and Soul) to her previous destination.

* * *

><p>So they find themselves seated in the very café Soul eyed earlier enjoying a tranquil Middle Eastern dinner. Soul sits next to Maka in the booth with Kami across while Maka answers all of her mother's questions to a T. She explains her amnesia, her time spent in Mexico, how Kidd and Black Star found her, and her return to Death City. Kami takes it all in with a mirage of mixed expressions. When Maka talks about her training as a nurse, she seems to light up with curiosity; when she says she barely recovered her memories the night before, she's astonished, but when Maka finishes, she still seems confused about something.<p>

"But why then? Why did your soul wait until that particular soul resonance to awaken?"

Soul's eyes slide over the Maka's form in curiosity.

"I've actually been wondering that myself."

Her cheeks flush to an interesting shade of cranberry, and she prays to Lord Death that this horrible bout of blushing will cease soon, otherwise she might die of humiliation. Soul should not be capable of having this kind of effect on her after everything they've done together over the years. It's just unacceptable.

"I'm not sure exactly. I think it had to do with my emotions at the time. Between the desperation and rage, something seemed to slide into place and suddenly, I was me again."

She pauses a moment, averting her eyes to the plate of food she twirls a fork through at the moment.

"You know how they say the soul is directly linked to the heart."

"Yes, I have heard of that one. Did Mari's heart realize something it's been overlooking all this time?"

She can't help it. Her eyes dart to Soul's face and back; she only hopes he missed it.

He didn't. Deep gutturals of laughter roll off him in ripples.

"Aw come on, Maka, no need to be bashful. We all know you love me."

He reaches over and nabs her from across the booth pulling her into his side in a no holds barred death grip of way too much affection. Maka struggles like a fish in his net.

"Get off me, you idiot!"

"Aw, you know you can't resist my cool guy charms."

"Oh, yeah will this 'cool guy' is about to find another dent in his head if he doesn't quit smothering his meister within the next two seconds."

Kami can't help but bust out in laughter. The sound hits them with the force of a wrecking ball stilling them in their actions: Soul still wrapped around Maka – he's even thrown a leg across her lap, and Maka with a book raised over her head ready to bring it down on the scythe's head. They apparently forgot Kami was there in the midst of their squabble.

"You two remind me so much of Spirit and me when we were your age."

"Oh, Mom, don't say that," grumbles Maka, deflating against Soul's side.

"Though I will say, after everything you two have been through together, you're doing far better than we were back then." Her eyes soften taking on an inquisitive look out the window and placing her forefinger against her chin and talking, seemingly, to herself. "Actually now that I think about that worthless papa of yours, you must have been the surprise he was telling me about for the next time I was in Death City."

"Surprise?" inquires an incredulous Maka. "Wait, you two have been speaking?"

"You didn't- Oh, I guess you wouldn't know, would you? You didn't tell her, Soul."

He shrugs, nonchalantly.

"It didn't really cross my mind, but up until yesterday, she wouldn't have understood what that meant anyway."

Maka scowls at the both of them while they just sit awkwardly under her scrutiny. Why does she get the feeling they're both hiding something huge from her? Someone better talk soon, or her head might just explode.

"What what meant? What are you talking about?"

"Yes, Maka, your father and I are on speaking terms again. Actually, you might even say we're doing a little better than that."

This does not compute.

"I don't understand."

"Well, at your funeral, Spirit and I saw each other for the first time in years, and in light of the situation we sort of interacted."

Maka's eyes soften, and she looks down at her lap. She can only imagine the heart-wrenching amount of grief everyone must have gone through in the last two years. Her parents and Soul must have suffered the worst from the trauma. She squeezes Soul's hand in her lap, and he moves slightly, discreetly brushing his lips against her temple as Kami continues.

"I won't go into detail about it. I guess, it was an acknowledgement of our grief at the time, but anyway, he started spouting off his usual promises of changing for the better. Naturally, I didn't believe him, and I eventually took off again to continue my work abroad. Over the next year, I checked in with Stein, Marie, and Lord Death every so often just to make sure he hadn't done something stupid like kill himself or what have you. I even spoke directly to him a few times to see how he was doing. It seemed like something really had changed."

Maka looks skeptically at Soul and obvious question mark hovering over her head. 'How long would that last?' she wonders.

"I know, that's what I thought, too. Then one day, Shinigami-sama rang me up and asked if I would be willing to accept a mission with Spirit. 'Top secret,' he said. 'Very important. Can't send anybody else.'" The imitation of Lord Death is a nice touch. "I probably shouldn't have, but I thought what the heck, why not? And I found myself meeting Spirit in South Africa for a hunt. Surprising, when we found out we could still resonant properly without hurting each other.

"The mission itself was pretty basic, hardly something I would classify as top secret, but what do I know? I don't rule the afterlife. We killed off the kishin easily enough, and on the way back we got to talking, and I blame it on the adrenaline rush but one thing led to another and… Let's just say it was a good night."

"Mother!"

Soul visibly winces at the shrill cry of his meister's voice, and several patrons cast annoyed glances their way to which Soul offers apologetic looks before spying the look of sheer horror on Maka's face.

"Oh don't look so surprised young lady. How do you think you got here?"

Now it's Soul's turn to sputter along with the blonde. Any mental image of Spirit being even remotely intimate with anybody should be ripped to smithereens and promptly blow-torched into oblivion. This can't be happening.

"Too much, for your young minds to digest, I see."

"Ya think?" deadpans Maka pinching the bridge of her nose, just trying to ward off the headache. How is this possible? "How is this possible?"

"I don't know, Maka. The world has a mysterious way of making things happen. Somehow we've managed to reconcile while you were gone. I never did manage to really stop loving the idiot."

"But, but, but you… He's a…"

"Give him a chance, Maka. He really has changed for the better."

Soul thinks back to the conversation he had with Spirit no more than a month ago. He and the red head may not see eye to eye the majority of the time, but even he could see where Kami was coming from.

_You would've made a good son-in-law._

He wonders if that statement still stands true now that Maka was back among the living. He pulls on her hand, dragging her face closer to his own.

"She's not wrong, Maka."

Maka sighs. She hasn't seen Kami this happy in a long, long time. Her eyes glow with the same warmth they used to carry when she was just a tiny little girl. She'll have to give her father a good talking to before she lets her guard down, though.

"So then, are you two back together?"

"We're feeling it out, seeing what can become of it, but it's a starting point. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nods carefully.

"Well, so long as you're happy, I'll be happy for you, but if he hurts you again, I'll never forgive him."

Kami laughs outright.

"You know I think I said something similar to Soul a few years ago," she says, rising from the table, the younger duo following her to the door. "It's getting rather late, and I believe you two have an early morning flight to catch, and I'm sure you two would like some time alone."

She winks at Maka suggestively, whispering in the girl's ear, "Why don't you give your man a little taste of what he's been missing the last two years?"

"Mom," she growls under her breath. Soul looks quizzically between mother and daughter.

"Oh, don't give me that. Spirit may be in denial of what's going on here…" She gestures in a circular motion between Soul and Maka. "Who knows, it's probably what's kept him sane since you two made it official. I, however, hold no such fantastical inclinations. You've been together too long."

Maka crosses her arms over her chest, indignant as always.

"Well, maybe I would throw the dog a bone if he wasn't so stubborn," she mumbles so her mother won't catch it, but Soul hears it loud and clear. He swallows down a laugh, instead dealing out a low grunt and offering her a good smack on the behind. If she wants to be molested so badly, she can just be patient about it.

She jumps slightly, whirling on him about to deliver some form of divine punishment when Kami starts talking again. The older woman as completely missed the exchange between the two young adults.

"When you get back to Death City, tell your father I say 'hello'."

"I'm so not looking forward to that."

"Maka," Kami scolds her.

"It's not that I don't miss him. It's just… Ugh, he's going to smother me to death. I know it."

Kami sets stern green eyes on her daughter, making sure she has Maka's full attention.

"Maka, my darling daughter, your father and I have our disagreements, and we have our understandings, and my understanding is that he absolutely adores you."

"Mama-"

"And," she cuts her off. "When you get back to Death City he _will_ fuss over you, so Maka for the sake of all that is good and holy on this earth, just let him."

The shorter blonde sighs in defeat.

"Alright, I'll try," she relents embracing her mother one last time. "But I'm not making any promises."

"That's my girl."

She kisses Maka's forehead, smoothing her bangs with an elegant hand and turning to Soul, upon which she bestows another kiss on his cheek, and bids the pair farewell.

TBC

Please Review!


	15. Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites

Author's Note: This chapter is a bit of a roller coaster. Thank you for all the support!

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater. Nor to I own the song from which this chapter gets its namesake from. It's by Skrillex and it's pretty good.

Warning: This chapter contains explicit content that may not be suitable for children. If you are uncomfortable with reading about sexual situations please pay regard to the markings indicating the begin of citrus material.

Remember Me

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites

I don't care whether you fly first class or coach or anything in between, being stuck in an aluminum plated cockpit of an airplane for a whopping forty hours will drive you stark raving mad. At least that's what Soul thinks. Never mind how spacious and disgustingly elegant their first class seats are. Hell, forget that they're the only ones even on the damn plane aside from six to seven other people scattered throughout the cabin. Flying these extreme distances is the worst psychological torture he's ever suffered in his young life.

They boarded the plane at about six am this morning, and a long nap, two in-flight movies, lunch service and another nap later, there's still another 28 hours and twenty-seven minutes left of their journey across the Atlantic Ocean and he's starting to get cabin fever. Maka dotes her attentions on him every so often when she's not sleeping away the time or too heavily immersed in her book, her wavelength reaching over to poke and prod at him occasionally. Does he need anything? Anything she can do?

He shrugs her off. No, he doesn't need anything, all she needs to do for him is bury her head back in that book of hers and let him find some mediocre way of entertaining himself for the next league of their trip, a mess of discombobulated passages from one time zone to the next. When you think about it, they are in the process of going backwards through time. Where his body clock tells him the time should be well about late afternoon/ early evening (around five or six o'clock), the nearby electronic clock lets him know without an ounce of regret that it is approximately two o'clock in the afternoon where they are somewhere over Casablanca, he last heard from the intercom (ugh, they hadn't even reached the Atlantic yet). He wonders if by the time they reach Death City, the clocks will have gone so far backward, Maka will have forgotten her memories again, and they'll have to relive the last 48 hours all over again.

If he thinks on it too hard, his head will explode.

It's a ridiculous thought. It holds no merit or logical thinking. Maybe the black blood is acting up without him knowing, but that doesn't make any sense either with Maka sitting not even two feet away from him, their souls too intricately tangled together, if he were to reach out and touch her, he's be able to see the delicate fluttering of wings about her heart. As it is, he can feel her wavelength wash over him in tiny miniscule waves of feathery fluff trying to distill his crescendo-ing bout of fidgetiness. Her fingers even play a game with his head as they twine through his hair making fleeting glances at his scalp.

It's calming in a way, he guesses.

She's always been surprisingly good with her hands, nimble as she is, and ever the perfectionist, she always pays attention to detail, never missing the slightest bit of information. Those eyes, ever calculating, can track body language the way a hawk tracks a mouse. The look they take on at times is the same as that of a predator on the prowl.

As a matter of fact, now that's he's bothered to look at her for the first time since he receded into his thoughts, that predatory gleam is present, and focused full force on him from over the corner of her current page.

Why is she staring at him, and is there any particular reason why her cheeks have darkened to a lovely shade of raspberry?

Wait, there's motion. It's microscopic and so quick that if he'd blinked he would have missed it, but he catches it and moves to the target of the motion. Unfortunately, his investigation leads his eyesight downward.

Shit! He'd hoped that the nothing-but-sex-on-the-brain teenage hormones had fully evaporated from his system when he turned twenty. This is not the case, and _she_ royally fails at hiding her laughter behind her book.

This so uncool.

He tears his head from her grasp and pouts at her like a spoiled five year old being teased by his mommy.

"This is your fault," he growls, leaning his head heavily into his hands as tries to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do.

She gingerly lowers the book to her lap, scooting just a little closer to him.

"Need some help there, Soul?" And she sounds so disgustingly innocent, that he has to remind himself that this woman is far from chaste (if her secret stash of romance novels was any indication of that). And, mind you, it was in fact he who did the deflowering on that the most holy night of her sixteenth birthday.

Yeah, that was definitely him. He remembers. He was there.

"I think my lip's healed pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

She's not wrong. He can only look on it sheer horror as her tongue peeks out at him, the pink appendage gliding along her lower lip. Well, somebody wants to join the mile-high club, and he's glad to proclaim it is not him.

He recruits every bit of his bearings to his will, summons all the power his good manners give him in this mortifying situation, and retreats to the safety of the bathroom away from her sultry gaze, though it burns into his back all the way down the aisle. However, the burning in his pants is far more painful and is therefore at the forefront of his attention.

He all but flings himself into the sink, wide eyed and already sweaty. Crimson marbles dart around in his head looking for and taking in his options while his hands attack the buckle of his belt looking for at least a little relief from the pressure. By the time he frees himself from the strangulation occurring in his jeans, he's sighing with the blissful relief it gives him. It only lasts for so long though.

He has two options:

He can either splash cold water on himself and hope it does more than make him look like a drowned rat, or he can rub it out. Neither option sounds like something he would like to do in the very public bathroom of a very public plane.

Okay, Soul. Lesser of two evils. Make a big watery mess that he has no hope of cleaning up and has not guarantee of actually working, or make a smaller mess that's easier to clean up and will tide him over until landing.

Oh, look, the plane even provides hand lotion for guests in his unfortunate predicament.

"Fine," he growls out, making his decision and reaching for the deceptively innocent bottle of lotion.

_Knock, knock, knock_

"You've got to be kidding me," he hisses. "Someone's in here!" he calls out to the intruder. Doesn't anybody read anymore these days? There is a sign that says, 'Occupied.'

He grabs the lotion.

_Knock, knock, knock…_ Just as he's rubbing the liquid into his hands.

"I said, I'm in here," he grinds out a little louder between his teeth.

_Bang, bang, bang, bang_

He snarls into his fist. It's starting to burn.

"I'm fucking busy!" He covers himself up enough to yank the door open. His jaw hits the floor at who's on the other side.

"I bet you are."

Maka pushes him back into the small bathroom and slams the door shut behind her, making sure to turn the lock.

(Begin Citrus)

"Maka, what are you doing?"

His voice is hushed and ragged.

"Shh…!" She kisses him. "You're going to get us both caught."

She ensnares him in the Venus trap of her lips, and he forgets why exactly he was so opposed to this idea in the first place. His senses are so clouded with lust, he doesn't register her fingers making quick work of the buttons of his shirt or the way his own hands may have breached the hemline of her creamy skirt and it just might be the edge of her panties he's nursing beneath his fingertips. His head falls back she paints a trail of open-mouthed kissed down his torso, but when his belt buckles clink and clash against each other as she pushes aside the fabric at his waist, his eyes snap back open, and he rips his hands away from her body, shoving himself into the furthest corner away from her. The maneuver doesn't slight her in the slightest.

She moves with him, one hand pinching the fabric of his waist band, the other reaching inside his boxers. His hands move with lightning speed to stop all of her movements. He catches her around the wrist.

"Stop, Maka!" he hisses.

She looks at him with mounting annoyance. Why is he fighting this so hard?

"Why, Soul?"

He immediately grasps for damage control. She taking this as a rejection and it really isn't. Not from him at least. He's just trying to protect her from herself.

"Look, Maka… You've been through a lot, and I just don't think-"

"So have you, Soul!" she snaps at him, cutting him off.

"So have you," she says again gentler.

She gives him another kiss, not unlike the one she bestowed upon him the Black Room two days before, and looks him dead in the eye.

"Soul, it's sweet that you're so concerned with my feelings on this, but if that's the only reason you're trying to stop me then shut up." He feels like he could smolder in the heat of her gaze forever, if she'd just give him the chance. "However, if it's because _you're_ not ready that you don't want me to, then just tell me, and I'll stop."

It takes a talent only Maka has to be able to say something like that to a man without making him feel self conscious of his ego, but she pulls it off perfectly.

She leans forward, her lips brushing against his Adam's apple.

"Your move, Soul. Which is it?"

He contemplates complaining to her that this is a completely unfair situation she has him in and there isn't enough blood flow going to his brain for him to properly process those choices, but that would be a lie. In truth, his brain is going faster than the Millennium Falcon enacting hyper-speed. It sorts through a thousand and one files trying to pull the right one that holds the reason he should give to Maka. He can't find it. There's isn't one good reason he can give to stop her other than the one she just swiped out of his mouth and promptly dumped into the theoretical trash.

"Soul…"

Wide red eyes focus on her face. She calm and collected, beautiful in her understanding. She starts to back off slowly, like one would retreat from an unpredictable, wild animal. She's taken his silence for an answer, and is now willing to leave him to his privacy.

But just as her hands are about to disengage from his belt line, his hands pull her by the wrists back toward his body.

"You're sure about this?" he asks, her hands trapped against his naked chest.

She nods, slowly, deliberately, making a show of her eagerness and complete lack of doubt.

"You're not doing this because you feel obligated to?"

She shakes her head at him a giggle spilling from her lips.

"Soul," she whispers darkly. "We're not fifteen anymore. If I didn't feel like playing with you…" He looks down as her fingers walk their way up his chest; his dick gives a heady pulse, frustrated with neglect and craving contact at her words. "I wouldn't," she hisses threateningly, and she flicks him in the nose.

He shakes off her love tap in favor of gracing her with a devilish smirk.

"So I take it you feel like playing."

He sounds like a cheap porn-star trying to egg his girlfriend on, but he just can't help himself. This is just too good.

"Don't make me change my mind," she threatens again, bringing her face a little bit closer to him, her fists clenching in the open fabric of his shirt.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And she kisses him, her hands trailing downward to continue where they left off. Her hands have always been amazingly soft on his skin, and when they finally touchdown on their prize still straining against the confinement of his pants and boxers, he fails to hold back a hiss as the cold air greets his swollen shaft. She swallows the meager sound with her lips before diverting her attentions elsewhere, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses down his chest and abdomen.

He obeys without complaint when she presses him against the wall to his back, content to wallow in the glory of her worship of his body. You might think of it in reverse as she kneels at his feet, her body seemingly submissive before him as his fingers lace through her hair pulling it from its styled pig tails. But the verity of the situation is he is wholly and completely at her mercy. He is prostrate before her, nothing more than an offering to his goddess as she worries the skin just below his navel between her teeth, languidly licking across the irritated flesh as her hand begins to pump.

Her grip is perfect, neither too tight nor too loose. The rhythm steady and complimentary to the ever playing music of his soul. She knows what he likes best, and oh, death, his knee shake when her tongue swirls around his head. How did he ever become worthy of such a meister? And she takes him into the warm cavern of her mouth.

"Maka…"

A prod to his psyche urges him to look down, and he's helpless to disobey. He can already feel her nursing his cock, bobbing up and down with learned knowledge. The way her tongue dances against his throbbing organ alone is enough to delve him a mental handicap, but watching her… Oh, it numbs every thought process he might have had left.

His fingers tighten in her hair. He doesn't even realize that might've been getting a little too forceful with her until her fingers pry his off her head and up against the wall. He hisses in despair when her mouth leave's his aching manhood, eyes rolling in his head.

"Behave, Soul."

Wide peridot eyes, eyes that never miss a detail, watch him carefully, sliding from his face back to her current task with a fluidity that draws his attention to her line of sight as she bestows a kiss to his quivering member before picking up where she left off. He can only watch in complete rapture as his aching flesh disappears into her moist cavern. He makes a subconscious note to be impressed later with her ability to take him down to where her nose brushes the fabric of his boxers, only to draw back not even a second later, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked. He can't help it, he moves with her.

It's more than wonderful. It's absolutely… He can't think of a word.

Paradisiacal, she provides him through the link.

Yeah, paradisia-whatever…

She hums at his mental ramblings. The vibration sends him reeling out of the steadily warming seat of his sanity.

"Maka, I'm-!"

She only hums again, and her teeth just barely scrape the delicate underside of his cock as she licks a long line up the oscillating vein beneath. He crashes into his orgasm with all the force of a charging linebacker, and his legs lose any and all capability they once had at keeping him upright. Her small hand wrapped tightly around him, pumping him for all he's worth as she greedily laps up his creamy essence.

His vision blurs to a white-out and he loses all sense of self.

When his cognizance returns to him, he first realizes that her hand is clasped over his mouth. He must have cried out at some point. He opens his eyes slowly, only to close them again with an agonized groan.

Maka is licking the leftover droplets of semen from her thumb.

"Soul Eater," she coos softly. Lips pulled into a smile, her eyes shine brightly in the dull glow of the plane's bathroom. He can't help himself. He hooks his hands under her arms and brings her face to meet his. He hums darkly into her lips, prying her mouth open and snaking his tongue inside to meet hers in a lazy wrestling match. She tastes like faintly of the fruit she had with her lunch, a flavor he can only describe as Maka-ness, and a hint of something slightly bitter.

Opps, that's him.

(End Citrus)

So there they are. Huddled on the floor of the cramped in-flight restroom, making out like a pair of horny teenagers happily flicking off any and all responsibilities and ethical codes with just the motion of their lips.

"Soul, we have to get up," Maka finally grits out between kisses.

"Uuuugh, who says?" unrelenting his mission to vanquish all logic from her thinking using only his lips. She moans into his lips but doesn't surrender.

"We've been in here for almost ten minutes."

That's when he backs up, awestruck.

"Ten minutes? That's all!"

He looks down at his watch. She'd managed to suck him off, deliver him to the moon and back with just the propulsion of her mouth and a few well placed licks, in just under ten minutes. Either it's just been too long and he's lost his stamina, or he's dealing with a Maka who has no problem acting as a sexual deviant – honestly! Blow job in the Bathroom! He hopes, no prays it's the former. There's just something daunting about having a girlfriend who's a freak. Course, imagine the endless possibilities.

Argh! Bad Soul! Shut up!

She probably just missed him, is all. I mean who wouldn't want to show their partner an exceptionally good time when you've been apart for that long. I mean, look what he'd done just the other day. That's how he'd been feeling. It was the same. Yeah… That had to be it. She was just giving it her all, trying harder – eh, bad word choice… being extra meticulous in her treatment of him. He'll go with that. That knowledge will keep him sane.

When he fails to respond to her within an unspecified time limit, she growls at him in frustration and starts manhandling him into his clothing, buttoning up his shirt and righting his pants. She somehow manages to guide him back into the safe zone that is his jeans without getting him caught on the zipper, a skill he is thankful for. And before he knows it she's pulling him up and onto his feet, acting the usual bossy Maka he's used to.

"Come on, Soul! Get up and go back outside before someone actually does find us!"

She has him up and out the door with barely enough time for him to compose himself. She already unlocked the door by the time he's spouting what the hell's all over the place. To which she calmly responds, "I need to fix my hair."

And WHAM he's outside the bathroom standing in the middle of the hallway looking a hot mess. Get it together, Soul. That's it. Take a deep breath in and blow 'fuck it all' on the way out. Rinse and Repeat.

There we go.

Now that Soul seems to have regained something resembling his usual cool, he makes his way down the aisle to their seats slowly as though trying not to provoke any knowing looks. It's all so nonessential though. The remaining occupants of the cabin are all either dozing in their mid-flight avarice or keeping themselves entertained with something or other.

He can only sigh as he sinks into the leather padding of his seat.

Maybe the gods are on his side after all. He sprawls himself across the two seats that make up his and Maka's compartment, closes his eyes, and lets himself relax for the first time since the eternity ago that he ran away with his tail between his legs to the bathroom.

Interesting how he can still feel a slight tingling sensation at the tips of his toes. Ahh, life is good.

His ears perk up at the sound of ruffling clothing.

Maka walks her way along the varying seat clusters, pig tails billowing out behind her, immaculately redone. How the heck did she manage that without a brush? You would have never guessed this woman had just sucked her boyfriend off in a public bathroom like he was her personal lollie-pop. She even stops to share a fleeting conversation with one of the stewardesses.

Shameless. Has she no self-reproach for her actions?

He begins to wonder if what happened not five minutes ago really did happen. No way could Maka exude such effortless cool after a performance like that. He's aghast and now growing slightly peeved at the display. That's his calling card, damn it! Instead he feels like a slowly fraying piece of electric wire, and with each second that passes he another piece of his brain short circuits. Granted, he knows that to any onlooker he appears to be as calm as ever, except maybe a bit disheveled.

This situation must be remedied. Immediately!

He makes room for her as she sits down just as another stewardess passes him the dinner menu. As soon as she's settled, he lays back down across her lap, his head cradled in the curve of her thighs as he looks over his dinner options. Maka just sits back, already parting the pages of her book.

"Hungry?" he offers, gesturing to the menu in his hands.

"Not yet. I'll wait a bit."

She doesn't see his smile. This is too easy.

"Hmm, yeah," he drawls out. Something about the way he says it, lures her attention downward. "I guess you won't be hungry for a while." He looks up at her, a feral grin on his face. The reclaiming of his cool is at hand. "You did just eat after all."

Her face heats to a wonderful shade of salmon, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'o', and he notices, with a swell of male pride, that her lips are a bit puffy, swollen from his mistreatment of them. She then snatches the leaflet from him and swats him over the head.

Hahah! Who says revenge is best served cold?

Soul quite preferred it warm and blushing.

* * *

><p>By the time the land in Death City, it's about 11:30 in the morning of the next day though our time travelling duo both feel like it should be closer 9:30 at night, and Maka is definitely not a happy camper. Her internal clock has gone ka-blewy, and she wants nothing more than to go home, curl up in bed, and take a nap long enough to right her defunct schedule. Sadly, she has to wait through a painful hour long meeting with Shinigami-sama, Deathscythe, and Death the Kidd.<p>

Soul is scared shitless.

His meister exudes calm indifference in reckless, uncoordinated leaps and bounds, but she answers any and all questions directed at her without even a twang of irritation. When Black Star intrudes on the meeting during one of Kidd's speeches of course, announcing whole-heartedly that it is high time for another party, Maka starts a half-hearted playful banter with him.

"You just want another excuse to get drunk."

"Please," he recites, a hand over his breast bone. "I don't need an excuse for that. But now that you mention it." He throws an arm around Maka's neck. "I'll drink to your health any day, Maka."

"Oh, get off me you great buffoon. And don't think I won't pay you back for the last few weeks."

She fakes a punch to his gut, and he scurries away from the jet-lagged woman before his giggles can impair him at Kidd's feet likely saving him from a real blow. Instead he earns a good kick in the head from Kidd as the shinigami reclaims his soap box.

"I think it's a great idea. How about later tonight that way you two can sleep off some of the jet-lag?"

"You really don't have to, Kidd. I'm-"

Soul's hand comes down on her head, gently.

"I think it's a great idea. What time?"

"But, Soul-!"

"I think nine divides quite well. We'll see you at the manor. And really, Maka, it's no trouble at all. Until then, get some rest."

She huffs in defeat.

"Take it easy, you two," inserts Lord Death as a bit of a dismissal. "And Maka, how are your injuries doing?"

"They're healing up fine, thank you."

"Good, then in that case, you're dismissed."

Maka bows deeply as she turns around anxious to get home. Her bed is calling, and she's too weak to resist. But just as she takes the first steps toward the door, Soul's hand presses into the small of her back and turns her around to whisper in her ear.

"I think you're forgetting someone, love."

She scans his face a moment, utterly confused.

Huh… Oh!

Spirit is standing behind Lord Death next to the mirror. Maka realizes with no small amount of awe that he hasn't said a single word throughout the entirety of the meeting, obviously waiting his turn to dote on his daughter like a good little death scythe. Even then, he seems to be waiting for Maka's acknowledgement, though he looks like the huge amount of effort he's putting into that feat is beginning to take its toll on him. The poor guy looks like he's about to have aneurism. His face nearly matching his hair in color and his eyes all bloodshot and bursting out of his skull.

Soul just wonders if he's on crack or something. He wonders if maybe Lord Death threatened him beforehand. Only something on that magnitude would keep the scythe from attacking his daughter. Seriously, the man's head looks like it's about to explode.

Maka shakes her head, eyebrows scrunched up in a pitying frown. She takes a deep, steadying breath, steps away from Soul, and prepares for the detonation, set on riding out her father's attention as her mama instructed. Soul, all too aware of what is about to transpire, steps out of the line of fire to stand between Kidd and Black Star, close enough to interfere should things get a tad out of hand.

"Papa…" Maka grits out, looking anywhere but her father, her arms floating up into something vaguely resembling the offering of a hug.

Everything that takes place within the next three seconds, seems to happen in slow motion to everyone watching. Spirit lifts his head to his daughter. His eyes light up in a mixture of stars and heart-shaped adoration, and…

"Maka!"

He swoons across the room, nearly tackling the poor meister to the ground. He wraps his body around her like a crying boa constrictor, hanging off of her wobbling form by his arms and legs. He whines and whimpers against the skin of her cheek, petting her like a cat and muttering things like: "Papa missed you so much," "Papa will never let Maka-chan out of his sight again," "Papa will make things all better." Maka just takes it all in with a grain of salt while everybody else bears witness to her most embarrassing encounter to date with her 'good-for-nothing' papa. Despite her best efforts to talk the man down, Maka just can't seem to make this daddy-daughter reunion resemble anything close to normal.

Black Star is cracking up laughing. Kidd looks absolutely horrified. Lord Death looks like he's trying to hide behind his enormous hands. And Soul… Well, Soul's just counting down the seconds until Maka loses it. As of yet she's lasted a grand total of 13 seconds. He doubts she'll make it to twenty. She doesn't even think she'll make it past fifteen not matter how hard she tries.

"Maka-"

"Oh, my darling princess…"

"Chop!"

She doesn't. Spirit finds himself face down on the floor. The man can only weep at the inhumanity of being separated from his 'pumpkin pie'. Shinigami-sama only shakes his head in commiseration for his current weapon's situation. Deathscythe may have grown up quite a bit over the years, but some things just never change. He will always be wrapped around his daughter's pinkie.

Soul sighs. He saw that coming. He'd predicted it the second Spirit sprinted across the room. What happens next, however, is a sure sign of an approaching apocalypse. You would've never predicted it.

Maka decides right then and there to do something, she never in a million years thought she would. She kneels next to her father and places a hand on his head, rubbing the rising welt with tender care and affection before she lifts his heavy torso up and wraps her arms around him looking for all the world like a parent comforting a crying five-year-old for a few moments. She would have never done something like this before, but her mama's words echo in her head, Kami's smile flashes through her mind's eye, she's never seen her mother so airily happy before, and she knows she needs allow her father to introduce this new side of himself to her if she wants time to continue to move forward.

She rises to a standing position, still supporting Spirit.

"Papa…"

At the small call, Spirit seems to return to reality for the first time since the Maka Chop. He looks at her, blotchy faced but lucid and seemingly calm. She has his full attention, 110%.

"How about tomorrow…" she trails off. She's going out on a thin limb here and she's more than a bit conflicted about it. The way her father is looking at her makes her feel like she's twelve years old again and fulfilling another punishment game. Only this time, there was no dare, there was no punishment game, just her giving her father the chance to be her father again. "Is it alright if I stop by the house tomorrow? We can catch up."

Deathscythe smiles at his daughter, bringing himself to stand up straight reclaiming some of his lost dignity. His hands come to rest on Maka's shoulders.

"Of course, Maka."

Maka shoots him a small, almost microscopic smile before stepping backwards and away into Soul Eater's waiting arms, the scythe having taken the cue from his meister that their visit to the Death Room was drawing to a close. Spirit sighs loudly, a smile on his face as he looks at the pair before him as they retreat down Guillotine Boulevard.

She looks so much like her mother.

* * *

><p>Blare tangles through both of their legs as they pass the entryway of their apartment. She shifts to her human form giving Maka a quick squeeze while purring that she heard the news, expressing how glad Bu-tan is the Maka-chan is all better now. Then, after giving a scowling Soul a pat on the cheek, she's out the door to go shopping with Arisa and Lisa. During the short ride from the Academy to their home, Maka had somehow managed to doze off on Soul's back. So now,she is almost zombie-like in her movements as she stiffly shuffles her way into the humble abode as Soul closes and locks the door behind them.<p>

It's only when she reaches the crossway between their two rooms that she stops, looking in both directions. She's conflicted. Two years ago, she would've gone for a nap in Soul's room without a second thought, but for some reason, now she's not so sure where to go. Soul's room had always been his ultimate domain, even after they started sharing a bed. At that point, she'd just become a welcome, more than welcome actually, guest. Venturing in casually without invitation is never a good idea. She'd suffered the punishment for such a misdemeanor on multiple occasions; ask her yourself, and depending on which time you ask about, she'll give a _variety _of responses.

Her room, on the other hand, is safe territory. She'll sleep by herself under a pile of comfy blankets to keep warm, surrounded by her books and clothes and her own smell, barely a trace of Soul to be found anywhere.

So which way?

Thankfully, Soul answers her unasked question for her. He approaches her from behind, gingerly taking the pack from her back and tossing it in the general direction of the couch, his own having been deposited by the door. His hand pressing into the small of her back is all the warning she gets before he is lifting her off the ground, onto his shoulder and carrying her to his room.

"Soul! What are you doing?"

She's more stunned than anything else, not really fighting him or leaning into his hold.

"Keeping you from pulling a brain muscle."

He deposits her on the bed, turns back around to shut the door, lean his shoes against the wall, and pull the blinds closed on the way-too-bright sunlight. By the time he gets back to the bed, she scolds him half-heartedly from where he dropped her. It isn't much but he decides she is exhibiting way too much energy for his travel-weary mind to handle.

"So you decide to lug me around like some sort of caveman. I'm not a sack of potatoes, you know…"

Her words don't exactly make much sense to him as she's mumbling into the pillow, and she protests loudly when he manipulates her over so he can get at her boots. She groans with pleasure at the freedom it brings her feet. She's still talking as he crawls under the covers with her, making himself comfortable against her. He hushes her with a kiss.

"Shhh, go to sleep."

And she does, right there in the comfy nook that is his arms.

He wishes he could follow in own instructions as easily though but dreaming alludes him. The sandman must be off fabricating Maka's fantasies. He tries to tune into the rhythm of Maka's steady inhales and exhales, but the cacophony of sound penetrating from the streets splashes paint on his mirror. The added white noise blurs the written pattern of notes.

Suddenly he's terribly uncomfortable. He shifts and angles himself around Maka's body in various positions, but nothing seems to work. His shirt feels heavy. The fabric irritates his skin. His eyes peel open to stare straight at the ceiling. He's antsy suddenly, too much energy and a need to move. He fears waking Maka, who lulls in her sleep blissfully unaware of her weapon's internal and external afflictions.

He creaks his way off the bed, shedding a scratchy shirt as he goes. He chucks it like fodder to the building annoyances around him as he circles quietly about the room looking for some inanimate object to explain his state of being or at the very least something to quiet his mind. He sits at his desk looking for something to do, various pens and paper spread across the tabletop. His mp3 player sits idly in the corner on top of a textbook that he's fairly sure he never bothered to open. That sounds like a good enough solution. Simple and easy. Maka would never even notice he had it on. There was just one problem.

The ear buds are nowhere to be found.

Maybe inside the desk. He opens the top drawer with a shrill scrape of metal and wood and freezes, holding his breath. He peers around like a condemned man and exhales. Maka is still fast asleep. He turns back to his task and opens the drawer the rest of the way a little quieter now that he knows what to expect from the stubborn piece of furniture. When he looks in though, he forgets instantly what he was just looking for, reaching in instead in favor of picking up the little velvet box nestled between miscellaneous amounts of sheet music and, lo and behold, his headphones.

He opens the small box with a quiet snap to see the diamond sleeping inside, and suddenly he's going backward. Not physically but mentally. Standing in her dusty room looking through an old photo album that would never be completed. Sitting at his desk just like this fighting back the pain of loss and loneliness. Laying on a gravestone swallowing down the poisonous tears that very well might have killed him the longer time crawled by remorselessly leaving her behind. The heady fog of emotions sweeps in around him, riding the bouncing ponies of the merry-go-round around his thoughts. He thinks he's about to pass out. The world spins with color and his heart races so fast it gives him vertigo.

"Soul…"

It all to a standstill by the gentle sigh calling out to him from across the room.

He turns around in his seat to face the bed. Maka, still sleeping soundly, shifts backward in her slumber, as though trying to snuggle into the few remaining tendrils of his body heat still clinging onto the sheets. The sunlight filtering in through a crack in the curtains falls over her face in a smooth arc. It shimmers about her, catching the golden highlights in her hair and dusting over long lashes. Tiny particles of dust dance about her, surrounding her in a halo of glittering luster.

Just looking at her, at that soft almost ethereal glow she has about her, is like shining a night light in the dark. She chases away the shadows that threaten to consume him, protecting him from his demons, the monsters under the bed. It's quite ironic when he thinks about it like that. She always used to gripe and moan at him whenever he threw himself in harm's way on her behalf, and he coolly respond with variations on, 'it is a weapons job to protect its meister.' She never bought it, not like the idea of a one way offering like that, and it always made her feel like some sort of fairytale damsel in distress whenever he said it, but he doesn't think she ever realized just how much he needs her. She is his protector as much as he is hers.

She mumbles his name again in her sleep along with some other jumbled up bits of words. (What is she dreaming about, anyway?) He looks down at the engagement ring nestled in the pillowes of its holder.

He lost her for too long, and by some miracle of chance she's been brought back to him. Found and returned. Returned like a carefully blessed package. He smirks at the mental image of Maka being gift-wrapped and placed on his lap for his birthday or something. That actually wouldn't be a bad birthday gift. Perhaps he should plant that little idea in Black Star's head. Things could prove interesting. But potential fun aside… Never again.

He makes a decision then.

He closes the ring box with a delicate click. He stands up and slips the ring into the pocket of his jacket hanging off the back of his desk chair.

Just as Maka calls out his name for the third time, he's crawling under the sheets beside her. She rolls over, burying her head in his chest, reestablishing a connection severed by too much time and too much space. He curls around her smaller form, presses his lips to her temple, and just breathes.

* * *

><p>Soul wakes up feeling abnormally cold. There's a draft hovering in the air and he's wondering how he could've caught a chill when Maka's body is lying right next to- wait… She is not right next to him anymore. She must've gotten up some time ago as her side of the bed is vacant of any trace of her body heat which is why he must be cold. He lifts his head off the pillow lazily.<p>

"Maka," he calls out loud enough for her to hear no matter where she is in the apartment.

"Yes?"

Oh, good. Maka accounted for, he flops back into the cushion, resigned to go back to sleep, but Maka seems to be determined to get him out of bed.

"Soul, if you want something to eat before the party, I made some spaghetti," calls Maka from somewhere out in the apartment.

"Alright, thanks, Maka," he grumbles through a mouthful of fluff as she appears in the doorway.

"I'm going to shower and get ready. Then we can go to the party."

"Is it that late already?"

She strides across the room, coming to sit next to him at the edge of the bed. He sits up groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"It's almost eight."

"Damn…"

She pats down the hair that's grown wild and tangled in his sleep. The gesture is for naught though as the stubborn spikes buoy back into unruliness.

"How long have you been awake?"

She shrugs her shoulders.

"Eh, thirty minutes or so."

He groans at her. He'll never understand why she's always so eagar to get out of bed. He wraps his arms around her and attempts to pull her back down into bed, but she swats him off in quiet retaliation.

"You have to get up, Soul."

"Do we have to go to Kidd's?"

"Hmm, funny how were so fixed on dragging me there earlier.

"Well, I changed my mind."

"My, how easily a little sleep can change your mind," she teases at him, pinching his nose between her fingers and shaking.

"Come off it, Maka! You know you want to go back to bed as much as I do."

"Yeah, well… I didn't say we were going, did I?" And another one bites the dust. She wins again, if Soul's pout is anything to go by.

"Come on." She pops a kiss on his scowl. "Get up or you won't get to eat anything before the party."

With that, she slips out of his hands and toward her shower, leaving him to his own devices. He lies there limply for a few moments trying in vain to go back to sleep. Doesn't work. Then his eyes snap open as he remembers the ring tucked away in his coat pocket waiting for its shining moment. He actually does need to get up and make sure this goes perfectly. He rolls over, groaning in pure disdain, without even bothering to check how close to the edge of the bed he is. There's a soft thud when he lands in a pile on the floor.

He floods indignance through the bond as her laughter reaches his ears.

Forty-five minutes later, Soul and Maka find themselves at Gallows Mansion being passed from one pair of arms to the next. Maka even finds complete strangers coming up to her in brief intermissions from her friends to deliver well wishes. Soul, casually cool, wears a pair of gray jeans, his leather jacket and a royal blue button down. He can't help but appreciate his meister's choice of clothing for the evening. Maka, her hair down, is wearing a simple white cotton sundress for the occasion, nothing too casual but classy enough to keep up appearances and it's a good thing too. She's been at the center of everybody's attention since she walked through the door.

It's a good thing they ate before coming because she hasn't been left alone long enough to put a bite in her mouth. She knows. She's tried. …On multiple occasions. She searches out for Soul constantly during the ordeal only to find with rising disappointment that he's either wandering the mansion, in the bathroom, talking to Black Star, etc. The point is he is unavailable to pry her from greedy friends. It's comical, really, how the man who has esteemed himself her knight in shining armor, displaying countless times his innate ability to drive her stark, raving mad by throwing himself between her and something he might consider dangerous (a kishin, sharp objects, cute boys…), fails to ride in on a white horse when his damsel in distress actually _wants_ to be rescued.

This whole party was quickly becoming her biggest test of endurance to date.

First it was Liz and Patti doting on her outfit – one they had picked out, mind you. The next was Black Star who ungraciously decided to deliver a playful punch directly into her still tender wound. He was then swatted away by Tsubaki, who played musical chairs with Kilik and the twins who ask about her last mission until she is suddenly whisked away to the kitchen, far from the bustling party taking place at Gallows' front entrance by Kim, Jackie, and consequentially Ox and Harvar. They heard from Patti, who heard from Tsubaki, who heard from Black Star, who found out directly from her, that she was injured pretty badly during the last mission. The witch absolutely insists that she must heal her up this very moment. So while Kim, who she dutifully remembers to congratulate for her coming wedding to Ox, works on encouraging the torn tissue in Maka's side to knit itself back together, she's dealing with Ox Ford and his bottomless pit of inquiries.

"So how did Soul figure out that you get your memories back?"

"I told him." _In her own special way._ A particular kiss in the Black Room comes to mind.

"And he believed you just like that?"

She fails at hiding a blush at those rising memories. Ox and Harvar can't see it because she's facing away from them where she sits on the countertop of Kidd's island table, but did I mention the back of her dress is almost completely unzipped so Kim can get to the wound.

"Well-"

"Let's just say we played a game of twenty questions," answers a gruff, male voice for her before she can die of asphyxiation.

Maka's closes her eyes, in relief. She has to actively maintain control not to do a little happy dance in the middle of Kidd's kitchen. Kim's hand leaves her newly, repaired skin as the pinkette inspects her handy work.

"Alright, Maka. I'm done."

"Thanks, Kim. I owe you one."

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's my pleasure."

Maka hops down from the counter and moves to zip up the back of her dress, but somebody beats her to it. Soul intercepts her hands and zips it up himself. He moves so quickly she does see him coming. She actually jumps in surprise and pain when the zipper pinches the center of her shoulder blades.

"Ouch! Soul-!"

"Do you guys mind if I borrow her for a couple of minutes?"

His cool guy attitude is up at full power as he takes in the shrugs from his comrades before pushing Maka in front of him and toward the doorway despite her sputtered protests. He only offers a silent apology when he rubs the reddened skin that was pinched in his manhandling. She quiets as well, accepting the quiet 'I'm sorry.' It isn't until they make it into the hallway that he actually says anything.

"I need to talk to you."

"What is it?" she asks, confusion present on her features.

"In private," he whispers in her ear, his hand slithering into hers. "Come on, I know where."

He pulls her along gently, navigating the labyrinth of twists and turns that comprise Gallows Manor with an expertise she's never seen anyone, save Liz, Patti and Kidd, exhibit. Course Patti's knowledge of the grounds depended entirely on what kind of mood she was in. Soul leads her calmly and surely, a confidant air about him that she can't help herself from gravitating to. There's just something about a quiet, confidant Soul that's always managed to turn her on better than anything else. She'll never tell him that though.

"This way."

He gestures to a door that leads out into the patio area of the backyard. He pulls her toward it and is about to turn the knob when…

"Ah, Maka, Soul, I found you! Good, everyone else is in the study. We're waiting for you two."

Soul looks ready to either cuss or fight. Maka jumps in quickly, squeezing his hand. She promises him her full attention once they've gotten Kidd to leave them be.

"Oh, sorry about that. Did you need us for something?"

"Actually, I just need you, Maka. But I'm sure Soul will want to witness this as well."

"What is it, Kidd?" she asks as pleasantly as she can. Kidd carries on like he hasn't heard her, coming around and making shooing motions at the pair pushing them in the direction of the study.

"Actually, I think we're all pretty curious about this."

He guides them to the loft where everybody is currently gathered. The remaining members of Spartoi have assembled themselves in this cozy living area in varying degrees of standing and sitting. Kidd sets Soul and Maka down on small sofa side by side. The second she sits down, she suddenly feels a hundred pounds heavier like the exhaustion has seeped into her bones weighing them down. She leans heavily on Soul, closing her eyes for a moment while everyone around them carries on their various conversations. Maybe she should've let Soul drag her back to bed, after all. It isn't until Tsubaki offers Soul and herself each a glass of wine that she wakes herself back up a bit by taking a sip.

"There's something we need to fill in from the last two years that you've been gone," explains Kidd, once everyone seems to settle down at Soul and Maka's entrance.

She laughs to mask her puzzlement.

"But I've already told you everything."

"Yes, you've told us everything you remembered at the time, but I'm hoping you might have gained a bit more."

She frowns at him not understanding, completely.

"Oi, bookworm, we want to know what happened after you went over the cliff!"

Black Star finds a shiny black heel meeting his face as Liz kicks him for interrupting her meister.

"Tactless Monkey."

"Oh… that…"

Maka stares down at her lap, her fingers twiddling together in apparent nervousness. Soul reaches over, placing a strong hand on her thigh. Silent support.

"You don't have to go into it if you don't want to, Maka," sounds Tsubaki's reassuring voice from her position next to her meister.

"Yeah, we've just all been wondering about it since you got back," inserts Kilik, the twins nodding quickly on his shoulder.

"No, it's okay. I don't mind."

When she doesn't start right away, Harvar jumps in with a bit of an explanation.

"They searched for you for days, Maka. Couldn't find a trace save for your trench coat. We want to know what went wrong. Then we can keep it from happening again."

She nods slowly at Harvar's logic.

"Well," she starts setting her glass on the nearby table. She's wary about going into this. Not only is she resentful of the memory that virtually stole away two years of her life but she is mindful of Soul's reaction to the information. Her eyes seek his out. He's been horribly quiet since Kidd distracted them from their little excursion. Will he get angry, frustrated, or will he just wallow in misplaced guilt again? She sees none of these as she stares into his eyes. He stares right back into hers, giving unspoken permission.

"It's a bit hard to remember exactly. Everything just kind of blurs together."

Soul's hand on her thigh tightens considerably. It's not painful, just enough to insight pins and needles up and down her leg. He's telling her it's alright, the link awash with calm and acceptance. He's ready to hear it, if she's ready to tell it. She is.

"Okay…" She takes a deep breath and dives in.

TBC

What do you think? Can you guess what's going to happen in the next chapter?


	16. Protect Life

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or anything from the Fifth Element Soundtrack

Author's Note:

To my Dear Readers,

This is the final official chapter of Remember Me. All we have left after this is a wrap up epilogue. This has been an amazing adventure. I am super psyched by how many people enjoyed reading this story, and I thank every single person who left me a review, who favorited this piece, and who added it to their alerts. You all have been amazing, and never in my entire life did I ever expect to write a story that would receive over 200 reviews.

I love you all, and I hope you enjoy this, the final chapter of Remember Me. Protect Life.

~Firefly

Warning: This chapter contain explicit content that is not suitable for children, so if you do not want to bask in the glorious citrusy goodness that is Soma, I suggest you turn back. There is also quite a bit of violence and technical terminology in here. If you have a question, drop me a message and I'll be glad to answer it.

Remember Me

Protect Life

"The kishin had a hold of me. I remember that clearly enough. His blood got into my eyes with Black Star's last attack. It burned so bad I couldn't see anything around me after that. I felt the ground give way underneath me and suddenly I was falling. In the back of my mind I think I heard Soul shouting and the muffled voices of Black Star and Kidd. But as I fell, I realized two things. The first was that I had less than fifteen seconds before I hit the surface of the water. The second was that if I couldn't free myself by then, I was going to die.

"I kicked at it and managed to punch it off my leg first, but I was running out of time fast, and it just wouldn't let go of my arm, so I yanked as hard as I could, and all I heard was a sickening snap. I think I broke my wrist doing it, but I'd managed to tear the appendage clean off the kishin's body. From there I curled up into a ball and tried to angle myself so I would go feet first into the water."

"Cannonball?" asks Patti. Liz swats at her with a shush.

Maka just chuckles a bit.

"Yeah you could say that. Just don't ask about the splash; I wasn't paying attention."

"What happened after you hit the water?"

Ah, that Ox Ford, always one to keep everybody on task.

"Well, I remember hitting the bottom. My feet actually tangled in some kind of seaweed for a couple seconds before I pushed off to swim to the surface.

"I looked around when I got to the surface. I couldn't find the kishin anywhere. I found a nearby rock to climb onto, but before I could even get a good handhold, I felt a tug on my back, and suddenly I was being pulled backward. The kishin had grabbed the tail of my coat, and he was pulling me into deeper water. I moved to get out of my coat before it could drown me; I think it tried to slice straight through my back, but I managed to get out of it and swim to the surface.

"I didn't make it. It's teeth clamped around my thigh and pulled me back down. I remember everything around me getting colder, darker like he was pulling me out into open water. It started chewing on my leg like it was trying to eat me alive. I panicked. Started trashing and fighting with every last bit of air I had. It's sank it's claws into my shoulder and before I could even think about it, I swung my free leg around, clamped down on its head, and twisted as hard as I could. It let go."

"Did you snap its neck?"

"I don't know. I might have. After that, it disintegrated like kishin tend to do."

"Well, now we know what killed the kishin," thinks Kilik aloud. "What happened next?"

"The kishin had dragged me deep enough into the water that I could feel the rocks beneath me but I couldn't see anything. The current threw me around in the water and I lost all sense of direction. It felt like I was being pulled in three different directions at the same time and I just couldn't figure out which way to swim whether I was going toward the island or away from it or what. My head hit another rock. I actually rolled over it. I don't know what happened, but my whole body went completely numb. I couldn't move.

"This is where things start to get fuzzy. It's like I was sinking in and out of consciousness for an eternity. Time started to measure itself by how many gulps of air I could fit in my lungs before the current pulled me back under. Things started to slow down. It was quiet. I remember thinking, 'when did it get so quiet?' Shouldn't I be able to hear the water, the bubbles, something? I focused on my heartbeat. I could barely hear it. It was getting slower and slower. Weaker. Then I figured it out. This is what dying feels like. It felt peaceful, I guess."

No one says a word. Maka has to actually check to see if Soul is breathing. It's shaky, but it ruffles through her bands. She presses a hand over his chest, squeezing lightly. 'I'm here,' it says. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

"You know they say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die?"

Several nods from around the room.

"I think that's inaccurate. I think, it's more your soul releasing your memories into the air like letting loose a spindle of fabric. I was inside my soul, and I saw all the moments of my life pass me by and relived the emotions those memories brought with them. But besides those, I started to get angry."

Out of the corner of her eye, she can actually see Ox taking notes down frantically on a piece of paper.

"I wasn't ready to be seeing all of this. I wanted those memories to stay tucked away where they belong, in my head. I started tugging at the fabric of time, trying to pull it back. I kept shouting at it. I'm not ready to die. I don't want to die. I finally shouted, 'I want to live' and it all came tumbling back. It hurt worse than anything.

"You know, when you snap yourself with a rubber band. It was like that but about a thousand times worse. I think my soul suffered a kind of whiplash from it, like I'd just been hit by a race car. It actually felt like my soul shook out of alignment. It was like it was trying to curl up in a little ball and make itself as small and unimposing as possible. I tried to reach for it but it was too far away. I lost it. Like not like I went crazy or anything. It was just like I lost all sense of who I was and couldn't for the life of me figure it out. I just kind of let myself drift into darkness…

"And the next thing _I_ knew," she stresses pointing at her chest. "I was standing on this rooftop in Jerusalem, aiming witch hunter at this ugly, flying monster with a gaping wound in one hand and a screaming Soul in the other. Which, by the way," she tacks on looking at Kidd. "You need to do better follow ups on these kishin, 'cause last I checked the report, he should not have been able to fly."

"I was not screaming," protests the now scowling scythe.

"Okay, he wasn't screaming," Maka relents. "He was just yelling at me. You know, like he always does."

"Wait, wait so do you even remember any the last two years?" inserts Kidd.

"No, I do. It's just… I don't know. It's hard to explain." She thinks on it for a moment, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. "You know who when you watch a movie you can remember what happened to main character afterwards, yet you know you didn't live it. It's kind of like that."

Confused faces.

"Anybody?"

"Don't worry, Maka. Black Star's got ya."

That's strangely not as comforting as she might've wanted it to be.

"How do you of all people understand that?"

Thank you, Harvard. Way to make a Maka feel stupid.

"See, man. You just don't understand what's going on in my head. My brain is the workings of godhood, you know. You need to try and get inside if you wanna ever bring that around. Huh!"

Maka just sighs in defeat.

"So then… How would you explain what your soul did?" asks Kim.

"I don't know exactly. Maybe…" She thinks about it for a second, her fingers idly playing with a button on Soul shirt. "Like when you're really, really cold and your body is basically freezing to death, you lips turn blue and then your fingers and your toe go numb."

The pinkette nods.

"You body does that as a defense mechanism to keep your blood from freezing. You're heart will regulate the flow of blood away from the coldest regions of your body to maintain a stable temperature otherwise the heart will freeze and stop beating. I think my soul did the same thing when it found out I wanted to live. It retracted all traces of itself from the parts of my body that were being most affected by the water. It focused all of its energy on keeping at least one little part of me alive, and to do that it needed to stop holding the extremities together: things like my memories, my emotions, my heart. It was all so I could survive."

"That's amazing! To think a soul has the power to keep a body from dying!"

Ox's outburst causes everybody to jump at least a foot into the air. Black actually spills some of his drink on Kidd's pant leg (Ahhh!). Kidd's OCD kicks in immediately and Liz and Patti have to dive on top of him to keep him from ripping apart the pant leg and/or making more of a mess on the sofa cushion.

"Sorry," offers Ox to the glaring demon pistols. Kidd is now rolling on the floor in a little ball. Everyone else is laughing it up. Patti, now blaming Ox for this travesty in its entirely, snatches Ox's notes right from under his nose (literally. Ox claimed a papercut after all was said and done). Patti laughs hysterically as Ox chases her about the room as she starts pretending to rip the paper, not that she actually would. She's only teasing him- _Rrrrip- _or not…

Jackie jumps from her seat when they fly over the couch, and the resulting chaos when they crash into a now thoroughly aggravated Kilik and Harvar is violent enough to raise dust off of Kidd's pristine carpets. It takes the combined efforts of Kim, Liz, Black Star, Tsubaki, and the twins to rip apart the scuffle and by the time they do, all standing in four corners of a wrestling ring taking in the damage. Let's just say it was a good thing Kid was already passed out 'cause if he'd been able to witness this mess the lampoonery had caused, he would have died very quickly of a mass hemorrhage.

Needless to say, Liz, ever protective for her meister's mental stability, is pissed.

"Alright! We have approximately fifteen minutes before Kidd wakes up. We are going to fix this living room before that or all our asses are history! Everybody understand?"

Nods all around.

As Liz starts barking orders, they bustle about the room carrying out said orders. Some faster than other.

"Ox, you fix the table. Patti, pick up the paper. Black Star, right the furniture. Tsubaki, Jackie, clean up all the food and drink off the floor. Soul, Maka, you two… Hey where'd they go?"

Everybody stops to look around for the pair. But it's a moot point.

Maka and Soul have vanished.

* * *

><p>"God, I thought I'd never get you alone."<p>

Soul's hand is wrapped tightly around her wrist as he pulls her through the house back in the direction they'd taken not too long before.

"Soul, where're we going?"

"Shh, you'll see."

He doesn't see her scowl at him as he pulls her through the stain glass doors and out into a small alcove between the rows of well-tended flower beds, tall trees, and elegant lawn decorations. Soul swears he saw them pass a sundial not too long ago. How sweet is that? Anyway… They reach the place he's looking for. It's a neat little niche. Enough space for the both of them to stand or sit comfortably beneath a canopy of weeping willow branches (don't ask me how Kidd got that thing to grow in Nevada).

They can see the manor from this spot, one thing Soul liked about it. The luminescent lighting beams from the mansion windows, lighting the area up just enough so they could see each other clearly.

"Soul," whines Maka again.

"Come here."

He pulls her into his arms and without much ceremony, tangles his lips with hers. It doesn't take long for her to open her lips to his and invite his tongue inside. She's a little disappointed when he draws back away from her, popping her twice more on the lips before she speaks.

"Soul, if you wanted to mess around, we could've just gone home."

He laughs under his breath.

"No, that's not why I brought you out here."

"Oh?

"There's something, I wanted to ask you actually?"

"What is it?"

He lets go of her then, giving her a bit more breathing room. Maka grows a tad concerned as he doesn't speak for a long stretch of time.

"Sou-"

"Maka, we've been through a lot together, and I… Well…" He trails off, gathering her hand into his with a long sigh. A twinge of fear courses over her side of the link. She doesn't understand what he's trying to say, and he doesn't blame her either. He's being so uncharacteristically timid, she's afraid of what this big question will entail.

"What is it, Soul?"

He floods his side of the link with puddles of calm, telling her everything is alright. Grant him this one moment. He's just never been great with words and he wishes that just this one time the right thing to say would just come to him. But they elude him, running away from his search. 'Cause all he can think about is the story she just finished telling in Kidd's study.

"I don't know how I managed to survive the last two years without you here."

He pauses, letting her soak in the topic he's about to broach.

"I don't remember how I ever managed to get out of bed after we got back to Death City without you. I can't remember dreaming anything that wasn't a memory or a nightmare. I've never been so lost before I no longer had you there to guide me. Until I no longer had you to protect and care for. I feel like I stopped living. Reality was more like walking through a nightmare, and the only reason I kept pushing because I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to give up, no matter what. So I was the waling dead for two years, doing nothing but taking on assignment after assignment."

Her hand clutches for his. Her eyes look so sad in this moment.

"I never really thought about it before, but now that I think about my behavior… Maybe I was trying to get myself killed in battle, and I probably would have kept at it until I either killed myself or the job killed me."

"Soul…"

"No, let me finish." He swallows the bile of tears in his throat and continues, blinking and look directly at her with a face matching awe. "But then you came back. Like a true miracle, something brought you back to me. Yes, I know you didn't have your memories, and you weren't really aware of whom you really were, but you were still physically here. I think I started coming back to life that day."

He shakes his head and looks away, a small smile on his face.

"It was actually pretty amusing watching you stumble over your words around me and second guess yourself. You were just too cute all shy and flirty. Especially the day you said you were amazed a death scythe like me would ever let you wield him."

He laughs outright in her face when she smacks him right in the chest. Several times actually, she smacks him until he calms down enough to talk.

"And then in another miracle, you get your memories back. In Jerusalem of all places. I couldn't believe it, and it actually wasn't until you Maka Chopped me that I was one hundred percent sure that it was you in there."

She pouts at him.

"And now we're back here, together… After losing each other we're back here. It's like… It's like… I don't know."

"Like we've come full circle," she finishes for him. She has a smile to match his own on her face. Timid and miniature but it's definitely there. "You know, when you do return to a starting point, you're supposed to have learned something along the way."

"Oh, don't worry, Maka. I have learned something. Though I'm pretty sure I already knew it before."

She giggles at him.

"Is that so? And what might that be?"

He smirks devilishly as if to say, "Oh you'll see," and without releasing her hand, kneels. He swears he hears a gasp in the distance, and he can't tell if it was Maka or not because her hand now covers her mouth, eyes wide at him. He brushes it off in favor of watching Maka's face.

"Maka, I cannot live without you. I love you more than life itself, and I would give anything to keep you by my side for the rest of our lives. I would go through hell and back to keep you here and never allow the same type of harm that came to you that day to ever happen again. I don't want to lose you ever again."

He reaches into his pocket. This time he's sure that it's her who gasps when he reveals the little velvet box that's been sitting in his jacket since their afternoon nap/sleep. It places it in the hand that holds hers gently.

"Maka Albarn…"

The lid creaks open.

"Will you marry me?"

Not even a second passes before she tackles him to the ground.

"Yes!"

She kisses him full on the lips. He can't help but smiles into her lips.

"Yes, you idiot. Do you even have to ask?"

Their eyes shut as their faces meet again though Soul swears he sees the light of a flash meet his eyelids. Maybe someone turned on a light in the manor.

It's a long while before they pull away from each other long enough for him to slip the ring on her finger. He wraps his arms about her waist as she rests her head and hand on his chest as she silently admires the diamond.

"It's beautiful."

He brushes her hair away from her face as she looks at him.

"Not like you."

"It's still beautiful."

She leans in to kiss him again…

_Flash_!

The both flinch away from each other violently only to direct equally potent glares toward the balcony of the manor where it looks like Spartoi has been watching their every action since Death knows when. Patti waves at them wildly, a camera dangling dangerously from her wrist.

"Oh, God. We've been spotted."

Soul raises an eyebrow.

"You think…" he deadpans. Maybe he can continue this moment elsewhere. Away from the mansion's overlooking window where their mood can really climb the heights.

"Yahooooooooo!"

Black Star, who swings from the railing like the monkey-man he is, is throwing catcalls and raspberries them.

"I want to raise a toast to Soul and Maka," calls Kidd – he somehow managed a recovery on his own – coolly from the patio doors, raising a wine glass elegantly in his hand.

"I'll second that!" yells Black Star, raising a beer. "To Soul and Maka. May your engagement sex be fucking fantastic!"

"Black Star!" sounds the chorus.

Maka's head thuds against his chest. He sounds like a fucking bass drum.

Thank you, Black Star. You have officially killed the mood.

* * *

><p>Maka's trailing behind him. Apparently she cannot walk and dig something out of her purse at the same time. He hopes she isn't looking for her keys. His are already opening the door.<p>

"Maka…"

"Coming," she calls from down the corridor as he steps through the doorway.

All is dark in their cozy little apartment. The cat must be off somewhere as for once there is no one barrel through the doorway for a chance to cop a feel or smother an innocent. He flicks on the light switch and looks around, eyes narrow and looking for any signs of a potential disturbance. He's got big plans tonight, one of which has already been executed. Yes, there were some, ehem, disturbances, but the ring shining from Maka's left hand looks so much better in its new home than in that cramped little box. He can't help but crow a little, knowing without a doubt that he made the perfect pick.

Mission: segway a profession of complete and undying love into a suave, and if he didn't say so himself, cool marriage proposal that would quickly reclaim his man-card. Execution: Flawless!

Now for his second order of business. One which he really isn't nearly as nervous about as the first. In fact the only thing actually holding him back from setting his plan into motion is a very slow Maka taking her sweet princess time to get through the front door as she continues to dig through her purse. She's barely taking off her shoes. What is with this woman?

He huffs in annoyance.

I guess, he'll just have to push her to go a little faster.

"Soul!" she cries out as he literally shoves her against the wall, the confounded contraption called a purse ripped from her hands and discarded near the threshold as he kicks the door closed. She doesn't fight with him long. After all, one can only do so much struggling when a hungry weapon's lips are busily devouring your own with a level of skill and familiarity that only time can bring.

Did he mention what his second item on the agenda was for the night?

Mission: Render Maka jelly-legged and stupid using his god-given gifts.

Any thought of fighting him doesn't even cross her mind as he hooks his hands around the outside of her supple thighs and lifts. She claims later that it was reflex that had her legs wrapping cleaning around his hips in complete abandon.

It isn't until she feels herself being moved from the wall, across the hallway, and then pressed up against a door that she regains some semblance of coherent thought.

"Soul," she gasps out, pulling away. "What're you…? Why am I…?"

His only response is to open the door behind her, swing them around, slam it back shut, - all the while keeping her mounted on his waist - and reposition her against the wood so he can better lay an assault to her neck.

"Soul?"

He chuckles darkly into her collarbone, lips laying a trail of butterfly kiss all the way to her earlobe, which he instantly sucks into his hot orifice.

"I believe," he finally answers after an eon of torture. "That Kim volunteered to heal you up nice and good for me. I'm just thinking I don't want her hard work to go to waste."

Her pupil's dilate. Her legs around his waist tighten considerably.

He smirks into a lip-lock, prying her mouth apart and thrusting his tongue inside to play as he carries her across the room to the bed. She hardly complains when she finds herself slammed into the mattress, but she drags him with her by the hair, disallowing him from breaking the contact of their lips. Not that he minds at all really.

He just waits for her to realize with a surprised gasp that he's already rid her of her dress and bra when he kneads the flesh of her breasts. Mmm, her nipples are already drawn taunt from his efforts. He likes. Much.

He escapes from her clutches, trailing long hot kisses down her neck and collarbone. She arches when his lips close around one pert nipple and his caress her subtle curves all the way to the delicate circle of her thighs. He grips her to spread her, grinding down hard into her body, the friction between her slicked underwear and his coarse jeans sparks a beautiful fire in her core.

She is instantly wet and not the slightest bit ashamed by it. Her body and mind have been all but starved to near death, famished in their desire for this enigma of a man above her. Her weapon, her confidant, her lover, her fiancé, her heart, her Soul.

She flips their positions, laying him out across the bedding. Her hands dart immediately to the hem of his shirt, unbuttoning the item of clothing while her lips chase after them in hot pursuit as they drive forward and up his torso until finally her lips reach his jaw line and eventually mouth. Her hands' next destination, however, is the buckle of his belt.

"Please, Soul. I need you."

He sits up, twining his fingers through her hair kissing her hard as she undoes his jeans and moves her body higher up in his lap so he can kick them off his legs. He attacks her collarbone, nipping and sucking the tender area into a beautiful red love bite before angling and pushing her backward so he can kiss down her stomach and her head hits the pillow.

"It's okay, Maka. I've got you, baby."

He worships the inside of her thigh careful to avoid her most sensitive of places. Teasing around them only as he reaches into the nightstand to pull out a condom, stuffing it beneath the pillow for later.

"Soul," she whines at him. "Quit teasing me."

He smirks into her skin and grips the edge of her panties with his teeth to pull them clean off before joining her back at the head of the bed. She lifts herself up and grinds against his groin. He can feel her arousal both through the bond and the cloth of his boxers. He grinds right back down hard.

"Eagar, aren't we?" he chides as he gasps out.

"Soul, I swear, if you don't-"

"Shhh," he hisses out gripping her hips and thrusting her body so her slick folds slide roughly but slowly back and forth directly over his clothed erection. "Let me take care of you, Maka."

He lets go of her when she nods, ridding himself of his boxers and slipping on the lubed condom. His left hand massages the meat of her buttocks while the right teases her core, one finger sliding inside for a quick dip as he swallows her sigh into his mouth, another finger joining its mate not long after.

His anticipation for her rises to fresh heights. She's hot and tight around his fingers, letting her feel the friction of skin on skin she he thrusts slowly in and out of her body as he preps her to accept him. It's important. She's maintained herself for him this long span of time apart. He can tell in the way her inner walls clench for his digits as he adds a third.

Too soon, he pulls back his hand, a thin sheen of sweat already gleaming on her skin in the dim street-lighting seeping in through the blinds. He can only hope he's worked her enough to make the next few moments pass easier for her.

She breathes in slowly as the head of his erection melts into her body, trying to relax her muscles even though she can already tell he might hurt her unintentionally, and he pushes forward, giving himself to her as steadily as he can considering the incessant shaking of his muscles, but he is determined not to hurt her no matter how badly he needs to bury himself as deeply as he physically can in her heat. So when she gives a small, oh so quiet sigh of pain, he stops.

It takes a lot of control but he stalls in his movements. She's nearly at her limit. He's delving into waters that have been carefully guarded for so long. If he isn't careful about these next few precious seconds, he could find himself seriously hurting her. She hasn't been with a man in so long, and he needs to be mindful of that fact.

"Maka, baby…" he whispers into her ear, voice a little ragged, tongue a little forced. Her breathing is harsh but steady as she wills her body to accept him.

"Hmm?" she finally grits out despite the assault of mixed sensations.

"I'm almost there, baby," he says, tangling his fingers in the hand she so desperately clutches at the bed sheets with, her nails nearly shredding the fabric. "But I need you to open just a little bit more for me."

She gasps, wide eyed and somewhat alarmed by this revelation.

She is absolutely astonished. She can't even begin to imagine him penetrating any deeper into her body. She's stretched to the maximum and so full of Soul, she doesn't know if it's physically possible for her to accept any more of him. She is terrified of the pain letting him delve further will cause her. Her anxiety already rising from the pain she's already feeling, hot pin pricks of hurt travel up and down her spine melting into a faint hallucination of pleasure. But this is Soul, a man she would give anything for.

So, in spite of the fear, she nods her head slowly and concedes to his wishes, breathing in deep – his face is so close to hers, she can feel the heavy flutter of his breath and their bangs brush against each other.

With a shift of her hips beneath him, she spreads her legs just a little bit further, one supple limb climbing just a hair higher on his waist, an invitation for him to reach around a pull said appendage up and over a broach shoulder. It's an invitation he accepts all too easily with the blithe greeting of lips against a strong calf muscle.

He slides home, sinking deep with a low throaty groan. Glorious. Completion, gratifying and liberating, floods his awareness. Her body is truly and wholly his once again, her fever encasing him like a glove. The primal instinct to drive mercilessly into her egging him to act, feeding desire and adrenaline into his bloodstream, but he swallows it down. He holds perfectly still, despite all of his muscles protesting against him. Pushing aside all of his temple's wants and wishes in favor of her, his Maka. He watches her, through his lust driven haze, like a hawk.

She's in pain.

Her hand in his is seized up tightly. Her back arches ever so achingly beautifully beneath him, velvety muscles twitch and spasm around him. And she's so magnificently taut. She's tight. Almost too tight.

He listens to her music. She is a symphony of soft gasps and moans. Adding to the song like a harmony are her internal musings and chants being broadcast over their souls' link. Through their resonance, he catches words pass: impossible, so deep, too much, amazing… Their bodies so profoundly entwined, her thundering heart beats in time to his own.

But slowly, her muscles unclench, shedding some of their deadly potency. Her hands, trembling fingers slither up his torso to rest on either side of his face. The electricity in their gazes as her eyes finally unveil themselves could light the entire city.

"You okay?" he whispers, a hand reaching up to cover her own on his cheek.

She hums as she leans up to kiss him, long and good conveying her answer to him. His arm wraps tighter around her waist in response. When she lays back, it's with a smile on her face. Her hands never move. She is content where she is.

For the moment…

"You've gotten bigger."

He can't stop the Cheshire cat grin from breaking out across his face anymore than the soft chorus of snickers he gives while his hands snake up under her body digging into the wings of her shoulders. Two years can make a hell of a difference to a man leaving behind his teenage body.

Keeping their lower bodies flush against each other, he lifts himself onto his knees and maneuvers them so she sits in his lap, him kneeling on the mattress. Her arms encircle his neck, her breasts pressed delightfully into his chest.

"I'm glad you noticed."

The fiend smirks at her, sharky, and way too sure of himself. She may have just made a costly mistake on her part. She always did have that uncanny ability of talking herself into trouble.

"Oh, god," she groans out exasperated with herself. "I just stroked your ego into the clouds, didn't I?"

He wiggles an eyebrow at her.

"Ohhohoh, don't worry. I'll stroke you into a nice frenzy for it."

"Is that so?" she huffs, shifting her hips just enough to get a twang of pleasure to reverberate through them both. She nips at his lower lip, tugging on the skin with her teeth, teasing. "You'd better get going then."

"Ohho, really now? That wouldn't be an order, would it?"

He shifts her slightly within his arms.

"What if it is?" she breathes against his lips.

"Then my meister's wish is my command."

She lifts herself slightly off his lap, sliding along his shaft and slipping back down painfully slowly.

"Yes," she rasps out. "I'll think I'll make that an order."

"Then, move for me, Maka."

And she does.

He lets her set a smooth tempo as he lays back using the strength in his arms to help her move the right way above him, stroking her along his aching pulse. Her hands brace themselves on his pecs so she can lean over him, laving his body with her attention as she makes love to him encouraged by the tiny vocalizations he makes. She returns them in turn when he takes more control over her movements and flips their positions.

Her legs instantly wrap around his waist.

He quickens the tempo, flawlessly conducting the long accelerando with the skill any musician should carry, and his body writes a crescendo for her lyrics. Her voice climbs the octaves. _Please, please…_ He can only comply. Driving into her, inciting her back to arch and her legs to quiver. His sanity slips away from him as he drives her into a frenzy.

"Soul!" The vowels long and drawn out.

She fists her hands into the sheets beside her head, a continuous strand of gasps spilling from her lips. His firm hold on her right thigh stays strong as he pushes her over the edge while the other strokes up the length of her body all the way to her left hand where he tangles his fingers with hers. Their engagement ring, hot metal against his palm.

She lets go of the sheet with her free and hand wraps it around his back. Her nails draw a groan from his throat as she pulls herself up to meet him, climbing up his body in an amazing feat of control despite the coiling heat in her belly. She kisses him hard as she calls for resonance.

"Ah, Maka!"

Intense. The only word he has in his vocabulary to describe this. Everything he feels reflects in her. Limitless pleasure, desire, possession, madness, and joy. They echo through him to her where she amplifies it three fold and sends it back to him.

He's driving her crazy.

She doesn't think she can last much longer.

"Come on, Maka. Come for me."

His thrusts become frantic, amazed he isn't hurting her in the slightest with the sheer force of them. Hard enough to pinch that tiny bundle of nerves with his pelvis, he pushes her orgasm closer to the surface. Her grip on his hand tightens, her nails dig into his neck, and her voice.

Oh god, her voice.

She sobs his name to the heavens. Beautiful in its coarseness, vocal cords already sore from her previous exclamations. He wouldn't be surprised if the entire apartment complex heard her, let along the whole city. No one would ever wonder from whom she found her pleasure in. You wouldn't have to guess who drove her to cloud nine and back. And suddenly, she's coming, harder and faster than a bullet.

"Ah, Soul!"

Her muscles milk him for all he's worth, tight as a glove around his member, clenching and unclenching in sporadic spasms. She's pulling him over the cliff with her. Commanding him to let go with only the pressure of her body. He finds himself propelled to the moon and back by only the force of his orgasm. The swelling of emotion makes him clamp down on her neck. His teeth breaking skin and encouraging blood to well from the wound.

"Soul!"

She yelps in surprise, physically jumping as much as she's able beneath him.

When he finally comes to his senses, he collapses on top of her though, he's careful not to crush her as she gasps for much needed air, her chest heaving up and down, up and down, his head resting against her soft bosom. God, she's gorgeous, all sweaty and out of breath and so very alive.

This was always his favorite moment. The span of seconds right after their love making when they would both just bask in eat other's presence and the dying tingle of their high. Just breathe. Listen to her heartbeat.

He rolls over, keeping her flush to his chest. He hisses as his sensitive flesh slips from her warmth, her fingertips stroking over his chest in lazy circles. She's sleepy now. As she always is after her orgasm.

"Soul," she coos softly though her voice is a bit hoarse from her, ehem, declarations.

"Hmm…"

"I love you."

He sighs. Her lips kiss over the edge of the scar on his chest.

He ensnares her hand in his, delivering a string of kisses to her knuckles. His kisses the pulse point at her wrist. Her heartbeat is strong, slowing from its previous rush, deep and beautiful to his ears. Proof of her life. Proof that she's here, finally in his arms.

"I know, Maka," he whisper back to her, laying down more comfortably into the bedding and pillows. "I love you too."

She smiles into his chest, snuggling deeper into his embrace. She closes her eyes, and slowly, her breathing evens out into the steady rhythm of slumber.

He wraps his arms tighter around her waist. She wouldn't be going anywhere tonight, even if she wanted to, which he was quite certain she didn't.

And as he follows her into slumberland, he idly wonders if she might have been loud enough for Black Star to hear.

TBC

So sorry this took so long. I will be edited later and fixed up. I'm sorry if the lemon feels rushed.

Please review! (Hides in fear of flames)


	17. Beautiful World

Remember Me

Epilogue – Beautiful World

Sunlight peeks through the blinds to shine into the previously dark room. Sleeping side by side lie Soul and Maka, their legs entwined beneath the sheet as Maka sleeps curled on her side against Soul. The sheet covers just enough of her body for modesty's sake. Soul lies on his back, arms spread wide with one encasing Maka's shoulders, Maka's hand resting on his abdomen, the sheet falls dangerously low on his hips. Both adults sleep on, their hair tousled from the night's activities – Oh, if only someone had the presence of mind to bring a camera before their stillness is broken by the gentle tugging of morning.

The warmth from the light haloed around the sleeping pair manages to stir Maka. Forest green irises are revealed as heavy lids lift to greet the dawn. The searing burn of sunlight causes her to wince at first, but eventually she braves the florescence once more with more acceptable results. Glancing at Soul, she can't hold back the smile. His appearance: jaw slacked with a goofy grin plastered on his mouth lighting his features. His hair is a complete mess, probably the result of her running her fingers through it one too many times, she thinks with a shudder of delight.

Letting out a soft sigh, she turns over and scoots herself to edge of the bed carefully so as not to disturb the slumbering weapon and reaches for the clock on his night stand. It blinks "10:00 AM" at her in neon green. No need to get up just yet she decides and rolls back over pulling herself back into Soul's embrace and unafraid to shuffle his lanky limbs around so she can lay her head on his chest comfortably.

Soul seems to hum (or is it purr?) when her nimble fingers trace the long scar across his pectoral with a feather light touch. Crimson eyes slid open to take in her ash-blonde hair and skin, still faintly darkened from the Mexican sun's rays. She lifts her head slightly to look at him as he stretches out like a cat underneath her. His deep groan inspires a giggle from Maka.

"Good morning," he murmurs wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.

"Morning," she whispers back planting a lingering kiss on his lips. Her breasts pressed into his chest, the sheet having fallen from her form to pool around both their waists.

"How are you feeling?" Soul asks. His lips tickle her ear and she pushes him back with a playful shove. It's a little funny. Didn't he ask her that same question not three days before? Granted, back then it was in a completely different context.

She shifts so that her upper body lies completely on top of him but a pull at her leg brings her entirely atop him just to lay, rest between his legs. Her chin rests on his sternum, angled so she can watch the dancing of her hand against his skin. Her fingers are tracing invisible designs on his chest.

"I feel good. A little sore and a little strange but better than I have in a long time."

One snow white brow arches into a perfect bow at that.

"Strange?"

"Just a little… it's hard to explain. Getting my memories back. I know it's been a couple days now, but it's weird. Like… like waking up from a dream."

He raises a hand to her cheek, caressing her face before tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck. His breath fans across her cheekbones.

"That was a long dream."

She smiles, nodding her head in agreement.

"Too long… I'm glad I woke up."

"I'm just glad that you remember me," he voices, sliding his hands down to the small of her back and tightening. He pulls her up and over so that she straddles his waist, his hands slipping even further down beneath the sheet still nestled about her waist. He sits up, not the least bit shy about letting her feel his growing need for her at her backside. He husks against her collarbone. "I could care less about you remembering anyone else."

She gives a soft moan and a chuckle before speaking.

"I don't think I ever really forgot you, Soul."

She blushes looking away from him.

"What do you mean?" His face is puzzled as he looks at her a moment.

"It's a little embarrassing… but when I was in Mexico I would have these weird dreams about a man with white hair, red eyes, and the sharpest smirk you could ever find." She trails off until Soul puts a hand under her chin forcing her gaze back to him. She blushes questioning whether or not she should risk engorging his ego by carrying on any further.

"Dreams?"

"Yeah," she continues more than a little bashful. "They were about different things. Sometimes he would be fighting beside me, others he and I would be arguing with each other…" She wraps her arms around his neck and brought her lips just a breath away from his own. "In several of my dreams, he made love to me. There was one in particular where he took me to ecstasy and back for no other reason than because I asked him to."

Her particular shade of roseate blush now reaching well into the district of her chest and collarbone. He drinks in the sight with bright, eager, thirsty eyes. In the back of his mind, he registers the chill of the engagement ring at the crown of his left shoulder.

He is exceeding pleased.

Soul's grip on her tightens, and he slams his lips against hers, prying her mouth open and slipping his tongue inside the warm cavern to taste her. He traces the contours of her mouth, reacquainting himself with her once again before pulling away and giving her the most sultry look she has ever seen in her life.

"How about we make some of those dreams a reality?"

Moving her head in apparent agreement and sighing into his lips, she raises her hips…

Owari

This is the end. I love it. It turned out perfectly to me. I hope you think so too. I had a blast working on this, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or anything by Utada.

Review and make me the happiest woman on earth.


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